Never Let Go
by LovinCopperpot
Summary: Liaden Ardal was a normal girl leading a very full life... before she found a green stone in the woods. Now she's in a brand new world with brand new rules, a dragon all her own and a mysterious stranger who is all too willing to help. M/OC E/A
1. Lost and Found

This is my brithday gift to myself. A new story, with a new trailer to match. Links to said trailer and a playlist in my homepage. I'm all excited. These chapters are sooo long.

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The elf bit back a groan as the wind shifted, sending more sand flying into his face and biting at his arms. The hot, cruel sun beat against the poor elf's back, and his body ached for water. But still, the elf rode on, his back cramping from being hunched over.

Behind him, he heard a foretelling and deafening roar. It startled his steed, but the elf kicked it, urging it faster still. The land almost flew beneath them and the elf found a small glimmer of hope that maybe, by some miracle, he would escape the horrible fate that surely awaited him should he be captured.

But as he felt his steed falter underneath him, collapsing to the ground a moment later, the elf knew that he would not make it out of this unscathed, and more than likely would be dead by the end of this. Acting quickly, he grabbed the pack that had been attached to his saddle, pulling himself out from under the fallen horse and circling upon his enemy, who had dismounted his dragon and was walking towards him, smiling ruthlessly.

The elf stood his ground, keeping eye-contact with the dark-haired dragon-rider. He held his pack close to his chest, waiting until the perfect opportunity. "Give it up," his combatant yelled at him, "You know what I want, and you know what I'll do to get it. So I suggest just giving me the egg... now."

The elf smirked as he spoke the words to himself, sending the rider into a fit of cursing when he realized what the elf was doing. But that fit of cursing gave the elf just the time he needed. By the time the rider finally calmed enough to react, there was a bright flash of white light, and the bundle had disappeared from the elf's grasp.

Angry and just the smallest bit scared, the dark-haired companion yelled the first word that came to his mind, "GARJZLA!" But he did not feel satisfied when the elf fell to the ground, burnt and blackened by his dark-red flame. The egg was gone, and Galbatorix would not be happy to hear that he had lost it.

_Don't worry, Murtagh, _Thorn spoke, nuzzling his rider's shoulder, _It can't have gone too far. The elf was weak from travel, and did not have enough energy to send it more than a few miles away. We'll find it. _Nodding to himself and comforted by his friend's assurance, he swung onto Thorn's neck, sliding back into his saddle as his dragon took to the sky, roaring a warning to all who dare touch the egg.

* * *

Carefully running my tongue across the front of my teeth, I clipped my horse into the neatly-polished crossties. The large, bay Andalusion nickered at the feeling of a brush against his flanks, but I ignored him. Today was just one of those days when nothing is going right and all I want to do is hop on this horse bareback and take off galloping through the trails surrounding our stable. And that's exactly what I plan to do, thank you very much.

With a huge sigh, Pappy let his head hang back down, obviously displeased at my lack of affection. Having had Pappy for three years, still with the hope that I'll grow into him, he's come to understand my body-language fairly well. When I don't respond to his hopeful whinny, it means that I'm not in the mood for mistakes or lip from him. It means when I bother to put the saddle on, he'd better not shift and complain, even if I tighten his girth a little tighter than it should be. It means him nuzzling my shoulder won't make me laugh and give him a sugar cube before I put the bridle on - it just means I'm going to get angrier.

Pappy, full name Padre de Fuego et Vuelo, is probably the only one who gets to see this crazy-bitch side of me. At school I have to be a cute, pretty little debutante who gets to do everything any girl could possibly want - art classes, fencing, singing lessons, equestrian, and all funded by my mother's inheritance. Two 'perfect' brothers, three 'perfect' sisters, and a staunch Catholic upbringing complete the façade, and it all leaves me, Liaden Mary Josephine Ardal, very tired and occasionally depressed.

I mean, it's all cool, but I could do without the singing and the art classes and the reputation. I like fencing, and Pappy, and I absolutely adore hanging out with my brothers, but everything else seems... superfluous. Did I mention the mandatory tutoring to ensure my flawless grades and additional college appeal? I swear, if it weren't for my brothers, I'd be one of those kids who goes to college and goes so crazy she can't pull herself out of it because she never learned to say no in high school.

Luckily, I **do** have my older brothers, who are determined that I will go to college a street-smart, independent and strong girl who will not be taken advantage of at a frat party. When my parents leave us alone, they both break into little rants, mixing up millions of drinks and then attempting to teach me street fighting. Too bad they're about as gangster as the British exchange student who lives down the street. And that's _combined._

Not that I'm any better, I'm a little Irish girl from Montgomery, New York. But of course, Pappy took this time to nicker and remind me that I wasn't finished tacking him up yet. With one swift movement, I grabbed his bridle and slipped the bit into his large mouth, my hand holding his nose steady so he couldn't throw it up and spit out the metal assaulting his mouth. Not that he would; not while I'm in this mood.

Because, you see, I have a very stupid boyfriend, and he's not even my boyfriend, really. Technically, he's another girl's boyfriend, but he's my lab partner, and he and I are extremely attracted to each other. Garrett, predictably enough, should be my perfection counterpart. He's got this wavy blonde hair and an unbelievable body, thanks to all the sports he manages to find time to do. Sadly enough, he's dating the school's resident 'tortured artist,' and he claims he can't break up with her because she just might kill herself in that 'tortured artist' way.

I say it's bullshit - I've known Jen since she was four - the girl wouldn't climb the rope in gym class for fear she'd hurt herself, so much for slitting her wrists in the bathtub. I mean, sure, she'll cry, she'll whine, she'll write a few nasty, possibly suicidal poems, and then I can walk hand-in-hand with my boyfriend through the halls and not feel like a total home-wrecker. It's not anything special - **every** girl whines and cries when they've been broken up with.

And it's one thing to refuse breaking up with her - I guess if you didn't go to preschool with the girl, it might be hard to imagine she's not _actually_ some over-dramatic painter who wears those arm bands for a reason. But no, Gar refuses to even try and make _her_ break up with _him,_ something that would be totally understandable!

Needless to say, Gar and I got into a fight about this before I left - prom is coming up, and he's very insistent that he'll have ditched Jen by then, but he won't guarantee that I'll be his date, or even tell me how he plans on getting her to ditch him. It isn't a completely unreasonable request - this I know, but still he won't tell me.

I know I should just dump him and all, but he's just so... irresistible. He doesn't treat me like the fragile little girl that every other guy has treated me as; that's bound to come with some questionable behavior, right? I'm just not used to being treated as anything more substantial than a china doll, and I'm not used to it. At least, that's what I tell myself.

With another shrill whinny, I led Pappy out of the barn, my body noticeably tensed as I turned the corner and headed for the fence, which I'd have to use to get on him. The mounting block couldn't get me up high enough to swing my leg over his back without stirrups; that's how tall my horse is in comparison to me.

"Oi, Lee, meh lovely little lassie, where are ya takin' that beast?" I heard the distinctive accent of the farmhand, Connor, call to me, and I spotted him far across pasture from where I was mounting. Connor was a kind boy; no older than twenty, he called me his lovely little lassie and didn't try and deny that he was born in good ol' Ireland, the mother country.

I smirked at Connor's goofy walk, a distinctive characteristic of his that I've never found out the source of. It's almost like his right leg is continually asleep, but not to the point of a limp. "I'm taking him out on the trails. Probably down Old Creek and across the bridge to the tracks and then back up Tierney," I recited my normal angry-cause-my-boyfriend-is-a-jerk trail. Walking it would take about three hours, but at my pace I'll be back in time for my parents to pick me up.

"Good girl, meh lovely little lassie," Connor called back. It was mandatory to tell someone what trails you were taking when going out, for safety reasons. I had taken to leaving a note on the message board as opposed to spending twenty minutes trying to find a trainer who would pay attention, but having Connor know was a bonus. A very unimportant bonus.

Swinging my leg carefully over Pappy's back and using his mane to pull myself the rest of the way up, I found myself much taller than before as I sat atop my gelding. With one raised hand, meant to be a farewell to Connor, I kicked Pappy into a long, slow trot. Technically, I'm not supposed to trot or canter on trails, and especially not bareback alone, but hell, Pappy's _my_ horse, and he's so smooth it's like riding in a car. It's not like I'm going trailblazing, or anything. It's totally safe.

Pappy's long gait took us down the paved driveway into the stable and we turned down onto 'Old Creek', which was quite seriously an old creek that had dried up and was used as a dirt trail. It led, eventually, to what was left of the creek, which was more of a river, and the covered bridge that crossed it. Really, it's all very picturesque; green trees, serene river, red-painted covered bridge. Too bad I'm not going to stay still long enough to see any of it.

Tightening my legs and using one hand to take a cautionary hold at the base of Pappy's mane, I clicked my tongue and squeezed my heels in true elegant-rider form, leaning back to keep my balance as Pappy started to canter obediently down the trail, sending rocks flying every which way out from under us.

And as my hair flew backwards, into the wind, it was like my thoughts flew away with it; I felt like I could laugh, cry, or even just sit and fall away into a world where the only thing that mattered was the rhythm of Pappy's gait, his long legs slapping against the ground and carrying me a little further away from reality.

We hit the bridge in almost no time, and I pulled Pappy down into a trot, my arms relaxing, and my breath coming freely. I sat a little straighter, with a bit more pride than I had when I started, and I wondered if Gar would be willing to sneak away from his precious Lillian for more than a few seconds so I could give him one loud, painful piece of my mind once again. And maybe coax Pappy into kicking him, that part is undecided.

I was in the middle of pulling my cell phone out of my pocket when everything around me changed. With a sound like a gunshot and the strange feeling of my organs rearranging themselves, a bright white flashed in the middle of the covered bridge, not ten feet in front of Pappy and I. I screamed as I flew backwards with Pappy's rearing motion, my mind immediately assuming that a bomb had gone off. It was the only explanation to the sudden force, the inexplicable heat, that surged through me.

Pappy whinnied desperately, and I rolled out of the way as he continued to rear backwards, nearly toppling over onto his back. I figured the worst as I clutched to the post, listening to my horse's panicked cries as he tried to get out of the bridge. It was painful, knowing I couldn't help him until he, finally, managed to turn and take off galloping for the end of the bridge. I wasn't sure where he'd go - if he'd follow the road, or retreat back to the safety of Old Creek trail. If I was lucky he'd wait for me at the end of the bridge, but I don't expect too much. He's a horse - he's got a prey instinct that I have to accept.

As the light suddenly died, I chanced to open my eyes, expecting nothing less than a destroyed bridge and charred pieces of wood floating down the river. But instead I was greeted with a sight that was almost... comforting. There was no charred wood, no shattered bridge, and it most definitely wasn't heaven. No, no, the bridge was completely intact and unharmed. That was as comforting as it got.

In the place that was roughly where the light originated from, though, was a round, smooth, polished stone. It shimmered from a source of light, though which source I can't be sure, and resembled a large, perfectly smoothed emerald. Carefully, curiously, I slowly started to make my way towards it. Really, I should have run away; every piece of common sense was screaming the command at me.

But I was entranced, utterly enthralled, by the egg. It was, well, it was almost magical, the way it shimmered and winked at me, like it wanted me to come closer. Of course, the stone wanting anything from me at all should have scared me into listening to my sense. But the stone... it didn't want to hurt me. It just wanted me to come nearer, to touch it.

Again, the fact that I sensed it wanting anything should have sent me in the other direction, but honestly I wasn't thinking very far passed _'ohmygod shiny.'_ Even the explosion that I could still hear reverberating through the trees didn't register; it just wasn't important. The rock wanted me to touch it - that as all I cared about.

And yet, a few seconds later, the spell was broken by a stomp on the wooden boards, sending a physical shock through me. Gasping, I rolled onto my back and watched as my horse reared in the entrance of the covered bridge before settling back down, pawing at the ground, like some strange version of the Headless Horseman. It didn't strike me as odd that my normally very instinctual horse was suddenly defying all instinct and waiting for me. My mind was still half on the stone.

I glanced between the emerald and my horse, knowing I should get back to the stable as soon as possible. Upon hearing the explosion, Connor would be after me like a shot, hopping on the first available horse, even if he wasn't the best trail-rider in the world. A shot or an explosion meant I was almost definitely hurt, and since he was the person who knew where I was, he'd be the one to come and try to find me.

Sighing, I also knew I just couldn't leave this breathtaking stone for someone else to take. It was just... impossible. I wouldn't leave without it. And so, quite determined, I scooped the egg into my jacket and stood, walking on shaky legs towards my horse, marveling at how heavy the stone was but immediately pushing the thought from my mind; if I think about it, it'll just seem heavier, and I'm not leaving it behind.

Looking up at my horse, Pappy continued to paw at the ground nervously, shaking his black mane and throwing his forelock every which way. I let out a single breath before running my tongue over my top teeth; to attempt to ride him and get out his energy, or to not risk breaking the stone? I could try and somehow use a vine to secure the stone or something. That is, if I can find a vine big enough to fit around Pappy's belly, and the monster stone.

Or maybe I should just walk along, carrying it all the way back. _Ridiculous, I don't have that much energy,_ I thought to myself. And whether or not I do, I should not be _expending_ that much energy. It's dangerous, and if I drop this stone on my foot I'll hate it but I'll still carry it anyways, so just... no.

Distantly, I heard the sounds of horse's hooves beating against the ground in a frenzied, sporadic way that could only mean an un-worked stallion and galloping. Don't ask how I know these things; horses just come naturally to me. It's like I speak their language fluently, English being my second language.

A few minutes later and I'd decided to wait for aid, as it was probably Connor and he'd be all flustered with me moving around and riding after an explosion. I should also probably lie about how close I was to the explosion. I hope I'm not all scorched and charred. _That_ would be a turn-off.

With a few hoof beats so loud they nearly shook the ground, Connor burst around the bend atop a jumpy-looking Casper, a cremello staillion that was soon to be snipped. "Oh thank the Lord, Lee, you're alright," he breathed, his dark brown curls sticking out at odd angles under his helmet. Swinging his leg off the horse, he hurried closer to me, Casper fighting him every short, hurried step of the way, "Yeh alright? We heard an explosion at the barn; I grabbed the first horse who was tacked and came straight out."

I rolled my eyes, "I'm fine, Connor. Not a scratch on me." Though I do feel a few splinters in the back of my arm. "But yeah, I heard what you're talking about – freaked out Pappy intensely, so I hopped off him." Better not mention that I fell off, too. Connor's a bit of a worry wart.

"And what've ya got," Connor questioned, gesturing to my stone. Yes, yes, it's my stone. I found it, and it most definitely has no name on it. This stone is mine, mine, mine. I just… I know it was meant for me. And I'm not in the habit of denying myself what I'm entitled too.

All this made me very apprehensive to show it to Connor, but I forced the paranoia to the back of my mind, "I just… found it in the middle of a trail. Weird, huh?" I held it out for his inspection, "I think it's just a really awesome stone, but I wanted to take it with me." Connor's eyes lit up in the same way I'm sure mine had, dark brown rimmed with white and flecked with a deep scarelet. Really, Connor has very pretty eyes. It's not important, just an interesting fact.

"It's awe-inpsiring," Connor replied, reaching out to hold to cradle the stone in his hands. The weight didn't seem to bother him, and he brought it closer, to study it, "Are you sure it isn't some sort of egg? It feels too smooth to just be a polished rock."

"What kind of egg would that be," I questioned, almost puzzled. I'd felt rocks that smooth before, really. I don't know what Connor's talking about. Besides, if it was an egg, it would've exploded in the blast and it would **not** have been in the middle of the bridge. "Besides, if it was an egg, it would not have been in the middle of the… path."

"I guess you're right, but I don't know," Connor responded, handing the stone back to me, "It just fills so… full of life, you know? Like a… pregnant woman." I smiled, openly amused at Connor's chioce of words as he scratched at the back of his neck, "Well, I guess we should get back to the stable. Amethyst was there, looking for you. Guess she'll be happy to have you back, and then I can go home."

My brow furrowed as I watched Connor turn, his long leg easily pulling him back up into the stirrup. "You're done for the day?"

Wordlessly, I led Pappy towards Casper, hoping that Casper's testosterone wouldn't surge and cause a fight. With an air of carelessnes, Connor threw his leg up onto his horse's shoulder, leaving me the stirrup and reaching an arm down to accept the stone, "Yeh, I was in the car ready to leave when I heard the explosion. I'd thought my car had backfired for a minute."

Balancing the stone precariously between his legs, Connor hunched over to offer me his arm, which I was in no position to deny. Awkwardly looping my arm through Pappy's reins, I tried to think of a response as Connor and I joined to pull myself onto Casper's back. "Oh, well… sorry."

Yeah, that was the best I could manage as I tried to readjust myself into sitting side saddle, clicking my tongue and stiffening when Casper edged forward at Connor's command. Horses, I'm good with. Side-saddling is a horribly different than riding. Sitting side saddle is one way of dismounting, a distinctly different process.

"It's alright; I'd rather know you were safe than get home earlier, especially since Amethyst was looking for you, and if you two were both hurt, well…" Connor trailed off as I leaned forward, attempting to shimmy Pappy's reins over his head before half-slipping, half-jumping off Casper and onto Pappy's back.

I grimaced at the painful shock that shot through my pelvis, but ignored it as Connor brought Casper in a circle around my back, "I told her I'd bring you back. I think she wanted us all to go riding, or something." I rolled my eyes to myself as the egg rolled down Connor's arm and into my welcoming embrace.

Amethyst was my best friend by far. A hippie and bleeding heart by nature, I like to think she and I were alike, or would be if it wouldn't completely through my reputation down the drain, and what was left of my social life with it. Most recently, her project was Connor, whom she was convinced needed a girlfriend.

So now whenever she and I are at the barn together, we spend the entire time that we're not in lessons hanging out with Connor, trying to find out as much as possible about him so that we could match him up with a non-slutty girl at school who will work with him. I say we, but I really mean Amy. I don't have time for this when I have all my other obligations; I'm surprised I find time for riding every day.

My stone resting firmly between my right thigh and left hand, I dug a heel into Pappy's side and he started in a lazy, plodding walk, slowing to Casper's pace for his sake completely. I glanced up at him, "So, you're going to go riding with me and Amy?"

Connor laughed openly, throwing his head back and almost drinking the humor in, "I don't have a choice about it, I think. She's very commanding, just like you."

I pouted, "I am not commanding; I am sweet and thoughtful and not pushy." Connor started to laugh louder, and I muttered, "At least, I am when I'm not here."

_

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_

_Hide underneath my blanket and sheets; I'm finally free.  
I'm killing the ghost of you, and I'm awakening me.  
_Bleed by Anna Nalick


	2. So Far From Home

I smiled as I stretched back into a tree, Amy sitting to my right and passed her Connor, all of us giggling and stretching. The stone was set firmly in front of Amy, and we were currently making fun of an especially pompous girl at the barn who treats Connor like dirt and whines in a grating voice that serves to remind me of how my parents wished I were. As far as they know, I _am_ how they wish I was. I've got to remind myself of that a lot, especially when I'm with Amy.

Amy is pretty much everything I wish I could be, and therefore everything my parents hate in a girl. She's got these crazy teal tips on her hair and, when she isn't riding, she wears long, free-flowing skirts and protest shirts about recycling and 'the man.' She's obviously been raised by hippies, and attends New York City protests regularly. God, I love Amy.

"So, what do you think this stone is made of, Lily?" Amy gestured the stone, "Like, do you think it's some crazy alien rock, or are you rich people just that weird that you could drop this thing and not notice?" I ran my tongue carefully across my teeth as I considered the possibilities, while Amy kept listing things, "Or maybe we found some crazy new metal, or…"

"I don't think it's alien," I interrupted, leaning forward and tapping the stone with my fingernail. A few feet away, tied to a nearby tree, Pappy's ears perked at the new sound, his eyes searching for the source. I ignored him as I continued, "And I highly doubt we've found some new metal. I think someone just wanted to get rid of it."

"Maybe its bad luck," Connor suggested, "You know in Ireland, its bad luck to deny a hungry man food during a time of famine?"

"Yeah, that's called Karma," I giggled back at him, and added, "And if it is bad luck, then you're going to have to take it-" _Not over my dead body; this rock was meant for me._ "-cause you've got the luck of the Irish. Yeh?" Next to me, Amy's nose wrinkled at my impersonation before we all dissolved into giggles, which were promptly cut off by a standard jingle from my cell phone; was I late to be picked up? I slid open the phone, not bothering to look at the number before I answered, "Hello?"

"Liaden? It's Garrett," I heard the deep, baritone voice of my sort-of boyfriend respond as I stood, ambling around for a place to talk, "I, uh, I think we still need to talk. Are you alone?"

"We don't need to talk about anything – I'm not your girlfriend, remember," I questioned, my voice icing over as I leaned against the tree Pappy was tied to, stroking his velvety nose in an attempt to calm myself down. "We're not under contract; I'm not tying you down. Jen ties you down, though; she ties you down real tight. I'm surprised your blood is circulating."

"Lee," Gar responded, his deep voice betraying his anger and frustration, "Lee, don't start with me; you know I'm just not in the mood for it." Of course he wasn't in the mood for it – he'd had a bad game last Saturday, and was apparently epically failing at practices all week. I don't feel sorry for him; it's not like when he fails everyone freaks out at him that he can't do anything right. He's got plenty of support to not earn my sympathy.

"Oh, why, because you hit a foul ball today? A single foul ball? Well, let me tell you something about foul balls-"

"Lee, I'm going to break up with Jen," Gar cut me off, in a hurried way that suggested if I didn't shut up soon he would change his mind. My hand, which had been happily stroking Pappy's ear, stopped short, my nails immediately flexing in an effort to find something to dig into. "I, just… not before prom. I don't think she can take it – she already has a dress, and a tiara-"

"A tiara? You're ditching me because your bitch-girlfriend has a **tiara?!"** I took another deep breath, and heard Garrett take a similar one on either side of the line. I knew that Connor and Amy were listening, and I knew that Amy was reminding herself of every peaceful thought in her body to not rampage through the forest in search for him. "I… I guess I understand," I finally managed.

"You do?" In all honesty, no I don't. A tiara? Doesn't that sound a little gaudy to anyone else, because it screams drama queen to me. Literally, a queen, with a tiara. Really. "I'm so glad; you 

know this is one of the many reasons why I love you; you're so kind and understanding. Right after prom, though, I promise."

"Yeah, yeah," I responded, my face visibly falling as I threw my whole body to lean against Pappy's ornately large head. He pushed his nose forward in response, into my belly, and nickered. "I, just, I have to go now, alright? I'm kind of in the middle of something, and it really shouldn't have been interrupted…"

"You're with that Connor kid, aren't you? I can hear his Irish giggle in the background," Garrett accused. It's weird – Garrett is completely fine when I hang out with any guy at school, but he's extremely defensive about Connor. I'd say he were the jealous type, if he only got jealous over anyone else.

"He doesn't giggle," I defended, "And yes, I am with Connor; him and Amy are out on the trail." As if in response, or to qualify my statement (wouldn't my English teacher be so proud?), Pappy pushed his nose into my stomach again and nickered, this time it sounding the slightest bit panicked. I ignored him, turning and pushing my finger into my ear, "So I've got to go. Love you."

I slid the phone shut and hit my beautiful little red button; the hang up button. I wish I could hang up on Garrett in general so easily. "Ugh, Lily, that was disgusting," Amy moaned. She has very very hateful, very very un-hippie-like and very very best friend-like, feelings towards my half boyfriend, half lab partner. I appreciate them, when I'm not totally falling for him or when I just don't really need to be comforted.

"Why do you call her Lily," Connor changed the subject as I rejoined them, deciding against sitting with them and instead falling onto my butt and palms next to the egg. He smiled carefully at me, as if to be sure that I didn't want to talk about my supposed relationship. If only we all lived in the blissful state of Connor-ignorance. Yes, it's a relationship.

"Cause it's what her parents want her to be – a precious little Lily," Amy squawked the last half in mock of my mother, and I burst laughing. Sure, the nickname hurt a little, but only because it's so true. A beautiful little lily – like Lily Potter or Lily… alright, I don't know anyone else named Lily. Sue me.

"Ah," Connor said, obviously not quite comprehending. I don't want him to, either. My parents are my parents are my parents; I tell who I want to tell. It was time for another subject change when, from immediately next to me, came a loud, wailing shriek.

I screamed, scrambling away from the sound. I looked around, my red hair quickly escaping from parts of my ponytail and obscuring my vision as Amy screamed fearfully, pushing into the tree, "Oh my God, what is that?! Is that the freaking STONE!?" The wailing died before another screech filled the air, and I looked down at the egg, which was shaking wildly.

"I… I think so!" I continued to scramble backwards while the egg rocked more violently, the cries momentarily silenced as with one definite –_crack-_ a small leg broke through the… egg. It was an egg; Connor had been right! Lord knows what kind of animal this is.

Its single leg was a shimmering green, the same as the egg. The screeching started again, quieter this time, so that the horses' panicked whinnies could drown it out. The egg continued to rock, and I looked to Amy and Connor for a cue. But they just sat and watched with horrified, amazed faces. Part of me didn't want to know what was in the egg; it just wanted to jump on Pappy's back and ride back to the stables and forget all about the egg. The mother would find it, surely. The way this baby cries, the mother would have to be deaf not to hear it.

With a gasp, the other leg broke, followed by a green, shimmering, scale-covered head. _A lizard!_ For a moment, the large, green eyes stared at me, the same sparkling color of the egg. They were breath-taking, and mesmerizing. Immediately, though, the eyes snapped shut and the lizard started to cry again, reminding me of a petulant, newborn baby.

Of course, that's exactly what it was – a newborn lizard, who happened to be crying a lot; therefore, petulant. And here we were, watching this miracle take place – and we didn't even have to watch that disgusting video they show us in health with the human baby and the actual giving birth! It's pretty awesome, if not a little weird and annoyingly loud.

With one final, tensed push, the lizard broke free, rolling onto its side and cracking the egg's shell. I sucked in a breath – most of its body was covered in the vibrant-green scales that shone, and along its neck were small, miniature pearl-white spikes. Its underbelly, which I could just make out as it stood on wobbly feet and shook it's long, elegant looking face, was silver, reflecting light I didn't even know existed.

I let out a breath as the horses continued to paw out the ground and whiney around us, but it didn't seem to matter. Just like on the bridge, with the egg. I was… enthralled; like under some sick spell. Maybe it was the way the lizard sparkled; maybe it was the way it wobbled before finally falling on its butt and spreading its wings wide, licking them clean of any liquid.

I took another deep breath, _Wings! The… the.._ "It's a dragon," Connor questioned, more than obviously horrified. Another shuddering breath and I looked over at my friends, who were gawking at the dragon, much like I had been a few seconds ago. Pappy reared, ripping his reins from the tree, the sound forcing me to scream in shock since it sounded an awful lot like a baby dragon attacking my throat.

The sound drew the dragon's attention, and for one horrifying moment our eyes locked once again. My throat went dry, and I felt oddly… comforted. With a squeal of what could almost be joy, the dragon started towards me, prancing happily as it went. With another scream, I joined my friends in the mad scramble for our horses. Pappy was rearing, stomping on the ground with both of his front feet when I reached him, and I tried to get a hold of his reins.

As Pappy's hooves hit the ground one final time, I heard the saddest little squeak I'd ever heard from behind me, and I turned quickly to see the baby dragon, looking more depressed than I'd ever seen, well, a baby dragon ever look before. It continued to walk towards me sadly, its head hung low and its movements cautious.

I knew my friends were already on their horses, yelling at me to get on as the dragon continued to waddle towards me. But the dragon was just, so… _cute._ And, well, it's only a baby dragon – there are barn cats bigger than this dragon. And just look at those eyes – what could be evil and still have those big, round eyes?

Slowly, the dragon reached my side, and I clutched Pappy's reins in nervousness, but I was determined not to run away. I mean, it's probably not even a dragon – it's probably a bad joke. Courtesy of Jen and her friends, or our rival High School. I mean, dragons are myths. We would know about them otherwise, wouldn't we? I mean, where in the world do you hide a _dragon?_

The dragon paused, looking up at me with wide eyes. _You're a boy,_ I realized as it stared up at me, not bothering to blink. I don't know how I knew, but I was absolutely certain; this dragon was a boy, and he wasn't spiteful or hungry or violent. He was just… a baby. As if he sensed my acceptance, the dragon yipped in joy and jumped up, touching its nose to my hand.

With a scream, I was engulfed in a flash of white, and a burning hot pain shot through my body, originating at the hand the dragon had touched. I felt the energy slowly started to drain from my body, my left hand still clutching to Pappy's reins as I fell against his long nose in exhaustion. I could only manage a last thought before I passed out, _Damn boys._

* * *

The wind was hot; stifling so. Through my eyelids, some sunlight still managed to sneak through. Strike that; it _burned_ through. My skin, spoiled and pale, was already tingling with a sun burn, and I whined as I rolled onto my stomach, flinching desperately at the sand my arms pushed through. _It's like I'm in a frickin' desert, or something._

As I turned, I felt something push against the top of my head, squeaking at me curiously. I groaned, cracking my neck as I bent it to look into emerald eyes. They lit up excitedly, and I remembered the dragon. I was just about to jump up and run away, crying and screaming, when the dragon gently leaned forward, touching its nose to mine.

Its eyes, transforming from excited to sad, blinked once at me as a bright light exploded from our noses. I felt a small whimper pull from my throat as my energy started to fade, the world darkening as the dragon slowly faded away from in front of me.

* * *

When I finally pulled my eyes open, I was freezing. My breath came in small gasps, and every bit of my body ached desperately. I groaned as I yawned, the realizations rolling over me lazily; _It was just a dream. A God damn horrifying dream,_ I realized, thankful. I must have passed out when Pappy reared during the explosion. I probably fell into the river – I'm lucky I survived.

But a flinch of the elbow reflexively confirmed my worst fears; I was lying in sand. It was one of the few things I could still remember from the three seconds I had been awake before. There was sand and heat and sun. Looking around, now; it was probably night, and just a few feet away Pappy was sprawled on his side, breathing shallowly.

I sat up, my palms slipping and stinging through the sand. So where was the dragon? Maybe **that** part was a dream. It's… not feasible. Nothing about this is logical at all, and I should be having a panic attack. But far away, very far away, I felt a calming presence, like an itch in the back of my mind that kept me from curling up into a ball and crying in the fetal position.

There was nothing around me, save for a few stereotypical shrubs and cactuses. And far off in the distance, I could see a great mound of something, slowly moving towards me. People? Civilization? A rescue brigade? No, no, it was too tall for any of those things, and even from the distance I was at I could hear its thundering.

The dark mound seemed to stretch all the way to the sky. It was nearly two hundred yards away, and it was moving fast. I sniffed, trying to figure out what it was. It was… familiar, but not something I'd actually seen before. But still, I could recognize it. A hundred and fifty yards now, and moving fast. God, what is it?

My arms tightened, and I remembered, from years of forced studying and reading, what it was; at a hundred yards away, the sandstorm thundered across the desert, and here I was without shelter. Well, except for my nearly-dead horse, but I'm more concerned about him living through this than I am about me living through it.

Fifty yards, and my Lord I've got no ideas. I mean, what can I hide behind? That particularly large cactus? Can I get away with just a duck and cover? I could, and if I'm careful enough I won't breathe in too much sand, but then again I'll still be exposed and it'll probably hurt a lot. No scratch that, it will hurt a lot. I shouldn't leave room for doubt.

I could just feel the sting of the first few grains of sand when something very, very large landed in front of me, wrapping itself around me and Pappy and closing out what little light there had been. I screamed as I heard the storm violently smash into our suddenly-there shelter, covering my ears after I crawled to Pappy's side, pushing my face hopefully into his side. Everything was slowly heating up around me, to the point that I was sure that the dragon had killed me and this was hell, complete with sound effects and brimstone.

An eternity could have passed before the storm did and my shelter uncurled itself from around me. It was at that moment, free from the fear of being killed by a sandstorm or horrified at the sounds and storm around me, that I realized with a sickening feeling that my shelter was _alive._ What in the world could have been large enough to completely cover both me and my horse?

Feeling very nauseous, I turned and looked up, eyes the size of baseballs and made of emeralds sparkling back at me hopefully. Of course, I pushed my gaze passed the eyes and nearly fainted – a fully grown dragon. Oh God, it must be the mother – I'm screwed! It's going to **eat** me!

"I didn't mean to steal your baby," I cried, backing away and hoping against all reason that it understood English. I mean, these things are supposed to be freakishly smart, right? All wise and evil and hungry and carnivorous and such. I mean, it should get English, right? Oh God, let it get English. You've been so cruel to me today; I deserve something.

'_You didn't steal my baby,'_ a male voice explained coolly in my head. I let out a deep sigh of relief before starting to scream wildly at the realization that there was a male voice in my head, a sure sign of insanity. I suppose the wild screaming doesn't help my case, but still. _'Calm yourself, little Rider. You are not crazy,'_ the voice encouraged, a calm feeling being shoved into my mind.

The dragon poked its head towards me encouragingly; its eyes warming as it touched the very tip of his nose carefully touched my hand. I screamed, awaiting the searing hot pain that accompanied every touch of a dragon. But instead, the dragon's nose filled my palm before just a moment before pulling away, looking me deeply in the eyes. I knew those eyes; could it be… "Are you… but you couldn't be."

'_I am the dragon that hatched for you,'_ the voice confirmed, the dragon nodding in time to the words, and I gripped my head desperately. Why is there a voice in my head? Why is there a guy voice in my head? Why aren't I running away and crying yet? Why is there this calming presence in my-

"Oh my God," I realized, "You're in my head!" The dragon nodded as I continued to scream, trying to back away and tripping painfully over Pappy's large girth. Using my hands to drag myself through the red-gold sand, I grimaced against the stinging that radiated through my palms. I sputtered for a few seconds, "Well, **get out!"**

'_I can't; you'd have to close your mind. You are my Rider; I'm eternally bound to you, our minds forever connected.'_ The dragon stepped lightly towards me, trying to nudge my food in an attempt to be comforting.

"Fuck that," I cried frantically, "I don't know what the hell you're talking about, I just want you to get out!"

'_You don't know where you are, do you,' _the dragon questioned smartly. I scowled, glaring at him.

'_Whether or not I do, I don't need your help,'_ I thought stubbornly, before a deep, rumbling laughter filled my head, I jumped, and then grimaced at the pain that shot through my body. The laughter quieted, followed by an apologetic, sad feeling, the same emotion reflected in the dragon's eyes.

'_I am sorry that you are in pain; it was necessary to fuel my growth.'_

"Fuel your growth," I questioned, my voice quivering as I brought my knees up to my chin, "Wait, how do you know I'm in pain? I never said anything about being in pain!"

'_I can feel it, just like you can feel most everything about me; my emotions, my thoughts. I didn't know using your energy to bring us here and fuel my growth would hurt you so much. I might have been more careful had I known.'_

"Using my energy? To bring me **where?!"** I was fully aware that I would absolutely hate what I was about to be told.

"To my homeland: Alagaësia."

* * *

Murtagh sighed as he felt Thorn's body buck and his wings pump purposefully beneath him. Nearly a week of searching, and they still hadn't found the egg. How far could the damn elf have sent it? He was nearly dying; he only should have had enough energy to send it no farther than **maybe** twenty miles, if the elf had been lucky, and Murtagh's estimations were generous.

Thorn was in equally obvious distress, and spoke to Murtagh in an annoyed tone, _'We've done nothing but search for a week. We need to take a break.'_ Murtagh sighed, imagining the look on Galbatorix's face when he finds out that Murtagh is slacking. The pain, the punishment, Thorn's anguished cries as Shruikan bit viciously into his neck and tail and soft belly.

Murtagh shook his head, _'No, no, Thorn; you know we can't stop. Not until we find the egg.'_ Thorn growled under him, quite aware of his Rider's apprehensions but wishing that, for once, Murtagh didn't care for him so much. He was sure that if Murtagh would take the risk, they could find a way out of their allegiance. Anything to escape their cruel, sadistic master.

Shutting his eyes, Thorn flew straight for their home, despite having to pass through a sand storm. Murtagh sighed, knowing right where his dragon was heading and reaching dutifully for his battle helmet. It was only fair – Thorn was too rebellious to not retaliate Murtagh's tired determination. They'd go back to his home, they'd spend the night sleeping soundly whenever the Urgals weren't bothering them with questions, and tomorrow they'd search further North.

Murtagh flinched at a sudden contact with his mind; far away, and faint, but at the same time desperate and horrified. Leaning into Thorn's neck in an attempt to escape the sting of the sand, Murtagh shoved the contact away. A small animal, probably, scared of the storm. Not anything to pay attention to.

A minute or so later, Thorn emerged from the storm, stream-lining his body to speed home and sleep. Murtagh felt his body aching, compounding with Thorn's pain pounding through his body desperately. _'You know I wish things were different,'_ Murtagh offered lamely, hating to think that Thorn, the one thing he carried about anymore, was angry at him, _'I wish the Varden had stolen your egg; I wish I'd found you earlier. I just… I can't change what's gone on.'_

Thorn flew on stubbornly, determined to reach Adurna without a successful apology. Murtagh sighed, sagging against Thorn's neck for a few seconds before straightening up and removing his helmet. Biting his lip as his Gedwëy Ignasia flowed with the magic that he used to float his helmet gently down next to Zar'roc.

'_That was smart,'_ Thorn commented sarcastically, and Murtagh smiled grimly as Adurna came into view. With a large yawn, Murtagh's grin fell and he replaced it with the forced, callous look he'd learned made the Urgals respect him as a General, and often got him to bed all the quicker. Think in short, snippy sentences. End everything with a degrading insult or the necessary respectful terms. And whatever he does, he must never look anyone in the eye.

_I can't escape this hell, so many times I've tried  
But I'm still caged inside - somebody get me through this nightmare  
I can't control myself_  
Animal I Have Become by Three Days Grace


	3. You Mean Everything to Me

Sorry this is a day later than everything else - it's twice as long as any of my other chapters because I know I have more ground to cover. And a friendly note to all of those who haven't read the third book, someone left a complete spoiler of it in my reviews, so be careful. I'd delete it, because I'm assuming there are some people like myself who haven't gotten a chance to read it (or even buy it) yet, but the powers that be won't let me.

* * *

I let out a breath as I ran my tongue across my teeth, glancing between a very exhausted Pappy and a very large dragon. More specifically, **my** very exhausted Pappy and **my** very large dragon. Apparently, this big hunk of flying lizard hatched for me, and I'm its… hold on, let me think here. All of this if very new and I'm not quite sure of all the terminology yet.

Oh, right, I'm its Rider. I'm now destined to live in Alagaësia and fly around, righting wrongs and being Superwoman. I could even do magic, if I really wanted to. Hell, I even have a nice, new, shiny palm to match. Too bad I'm pretty sure none of this is real and I'm only going along on the off chance that the dragon will eat me if I fight him about it. Then again, for all I know, I'm walking along to my death right now due to an entire pack of dragons.

Anyway, after I had a mini freak-out, the dragon insisted that we both rest for the night and made me use his wing as shelter, like I had when he saved me from the sandstorm. And may I say, it was freaking hot in there. He says it's probably his internal flame, and not to worry because it gets so cold in the desert at night anyway that it's better to be too hot.

And now we're heading towards a castle he saw when he was flying around and scouting for danger last night, pulling Pappy along because he's very wobbly on his feet so I don't want to ride him. Apparently I'm lucky Pappy was with me because with all the energy it took to get the three of us from Earth to Alagaësia, I could've died.

I asked the dragon about how he knew how to get us there, and he said that because while he was an egg he was exposed to an extensive amount of Dark Magic, he could remember things from before he even hatched. It was also how he knew how to accelerate his growth using my energy and how he knows a bit of what is going on currently in Alagaësia.

"You know," I wondered out loud, not comfortable with using our super-dee-duper mind connection yet, "It's really inconvenient, to call you 'dragon' all the time – don't you have a name?"

The dragon didn't pause, continuing to take earth-shattering steps next to me as his thoughtful feeling fulfilled me, '_No, I do not. Normally, you would've named me when I was a hatchling, but because of the war I felt it was smarter to skip over my vulnerable phase.'_

"What's this war you keep talking about," I questioned, feeling slightly irritable. After all, if I'm not actually in a mental institute, then a war might hinder the process of people getting me back home. And that's just not good for anyone.

'_I'm not sure of the specifics,'_ the dragon confessed, his head hung low as he bent his neck to look at me, '_But I do know that you will be a part of it.'_

"No I won't," I argued naturally, the words spilling out, "I don't belong here – as soon as we find someone who can help me, I'm going home."

The dragon paused, and then he tensed. I ran my tongue across my teeth quickly, my ultimate nervous habit, and wondered if my leaving would make it mad. I mean, he hatched, what does he need me for? '_Very well,'_ the dragon finally conceded, '_As soon as we can manage it, you shall return to your world.'_

I let out a deep breath that I hadn't realized I'd been holding as I noticed a black speck in front of us. That would be the castle, no doubt. "Thank you," I replied politely, my feet starting to burn in the hot sand. I'm just glad I didn't wear my knee-high boots when I decided to go riding. "So," I questioned, my mind turning back to my original question, "No name, huh? Do I get to name you?"

The dragon nodded, his long neck stretching out in front of him, '_Yes, I suppose you do.'_

"How about Emer-" I paused. My initial thought had been 'Emerald,' because of his startling color, but then I realized that it would be a girl's name. How to make 'Emerald' male? "-son?"

'_Emerson,'_ the dragon tossed the name around in his mind before a wave of acceptance and pleasure washed over me, '_I like it.'_

I nodded, "Great." Great, now I have a dragon named Emerson. Isn't that the name of a band?

* * *

Murtagh awoke to a panicked roar, and he jumped out of bed. His mind desperately turned to Thorn as he grabbed Zar'roc and made a beeline for the hallway. His castle was arranged in a boxy-eight shape, with two square courtyards. One was meant for Thorn's stables, the other for Murtagh to 'entertain royal guests.'

Murtagh specifically chosen the bedroom placed strategically to the side of the hallway that connected the two, so that he could run out and look at both easily. To his right, he saw Thorn, stretching lazily before reaching towards Murtagh's mind in question.

Flipping his hair out of his face, Murtagh looked to the other courtyard, and his heart stopped. There he was – the green dragon. Full grown and angry, he stood in defense of a screaming redheaded girl and a rearing, large bay horse.

'_What is it,'_ Thorn finally enunciated his question, and Murtagh growled as he pushed open the door to a balcony, screaming at the Urgals in their language to back down and leave the dragon rider to him. His mind numb, he barely transmitted the image to Thorn before the ground shook as Thorn pushed off, cramming himself into the other half of the courtyard, placing himself just as defensively between himself and the green dragon.

"Peace, Rider," Murtagh finally managed, sighing as he used Thorn's outstretched wing to slide off the balcony and onto the ground, "We mean you no harm." Screaming once again in the harsh language of the Urgals to stand down, he reappeared in the green dragon's sight from just below Thorn's neck. '_Calm down, Thorn,'_ he warned his companion, '_We don't want to make an enemy of them so soon.'_

"What the hell are those things," the girl questioned shrilly, pointing with fear at the Urgals as they continued to surround her. Murtagh pursed his lips as he caught his first full view of her – she was dressed oddly, to be sure. Her legs were covered in a strange blue fabric that tucked into tight black leather that seemed to fit over her black boot. Was she an elf? But then, if she were, why would she be so scared and helpless in the face of a few Urgals?

"What is your name, Rider," Murtagh questioned back smartly, trying to keep his face open, like she were a close friend who had dropped by unexpectedly. Or at least, this was the expression Murtagh imagined one would use. Close friends had so rarely dropped by unexpectedly that he never bothered to think about how he would look if they did.

The girl's face darkened before she looked at her dragon. Murtagh considered, for a moment, intruding her mind and listening to the conversation, but if she were an elf then she would know and consider him an enemy. That just wasn't a risk he was willing to take. She looked back at him, carefully, "Liaden. Liaden Ardal."

Murtagh licked his lips, trying to think and sound friendly. Then again, sounding friendly might seem more natural, and more believable, if only Galbatorix hadn't saddled him with these Urgals. "Liaden? I've not heard the name anywhere; is it Elven?" The girl tensed visibly, and Murtagh noted that as a yes in his mind. He took a step closer, which resulted in a step back on the girl's part.

"Elves," the girl's voice quivered a little, reminding Murtagh of a scared, baby rabbit who wasn't sure whether he was hunting it or he wanted to play with it. Murtagh smiled, glancing up at Thorn's ruby-colored eyes, which twinkled back at him disapprovingly. He knew what his dragon wanted him to do before he actually said it.

'_Send her to the Varden, before Galbotorix finds out about her,'_ Thorn pressed, '_Think of her like a peace offering to Eragon. Galbotorix never told us what to do if the __**fully grown**_ _dragon came to us, much less if the Rider came. They need another Rider, Murtagh; we need to help them.'_

Murtagh sighed as he stared up at Thorn; this was how the two of them got by – finding loopholes in Galbatorix's orders and laws. If it weren't for those loopholes, he'd have had to kill Eragon. After all, it wasn't Murtagh's fault that Galbatorix never specified what he meant when he said to "defeat" Eragon.

But if Galbatorix found out that Murtagh had let the green dragon get away… He shuddered before shaking his head slightly, turning his attention back to the Rider… Liaden. "Yes, elves. You do know what elves are, don't you?" The girl glared at him, but Murtagh thought it was a reasonable question. Obviously, this girl had no idea what was going on – who was to say she wasn't an ignorant farm girl? Eragon had been, once...

"Yes, yes I do," she replied smartly at him, and Murtagh couldn't help but smirk a little in satisfaction. At least she'd be a bit more interesting to have around, especially if her dragon was just as snippy and defensive. What was it, anyway, with dragons and being defensive?

"And where do you come from," Murtagh asked carefully, forcing the smirk from his face in turn for a warm expression.

The girl traded another apprehensive look with her dragon, their eyes flashing at each other. Her brow furrowed and she took a tentative step towards her horse. Murtagh felt his legs tense and he reached carefully for his sword, unsure if she was also armed. Could she really think he was stupid enough to not notice her moving for... a weapon that was attached to the saddle she didn't have. This girl is slowly becoming less and less of a threat.

She took a deep breath before carefully taking a hold of her horse's reins, her knuckles turning white. Was she really that scared? Murtagh took a second to mull things over in his head – there was no reason for her to be scared; she had a dragon, she was **powerful.**

_Careful with her,_ Thorn advised, _We don't know what she knows; she seems too innocent._

Murtagh's lips pursed, his legs still tense, as he mentally agreed with his dragon. "Where are you from," Murtagh questioned again. Would it be too ironic for her to be from the Spine?

"New York," the girl called uncertainly, flinching as her dragon's eyes turned on her. Murtagh tensed as the dragon's head flipped back around, his roar deafening as the girl scrambled up his wing, her horse rearing and bucking as the Urgals started to rush in towards her.

With one definitive swipe of his tail, the dragon knocked out most of the Urgals and pushed off the ground, Murtagh's legs trembling and the horse falling onto it's back, crushing one of the few human soldiers underneath of him. Murtagh started to yell orders furiously as Thorn curled his tail defensively around Murtagh, _Should we go after them?_

_Leave them for now,_ Murtagh decided, watching with interest as the dragon stream-lined and dove over one of the far sand dunes. _He's fast._

Thorn agreed grudgingly, _I guess._ Murtagh smiled up at his counterpart, grim and yet cheerful – if they couldn't catch them, than Galbatorix might not be so harsh in his punishment, and maybe the pair could find their way to the Varden, and Eragon would have a chance.

Murtagh gulped, knowing that he'd better put on a show, and started to scream at the Urgals to get their things and hunt the damn dragon down. Using Thorn's leg, Murtagh slipped easily onto his dragon's back, not bothering with the uncomfortable, bejeweled saddle, the only one Galbatorix saw fit for Murtagh to use. He smiled as he felt Thorn's wings pump underneath him, every strain of his dragon's tendons feeling welcome and familiar.

_We'll circle out of their sights,_ Thorn guessed, and Murtagh smiled at his dragon's prediction, which was of course correct. Feeling Murtagh's approval, Thorn pushed into the air, and Murtagh was amazed at the distance that the green dragon had already covered. Larger than a speck, but still far enough away to be impressive.

_I wonder if he can fight, too,_ Murtagh pondered, more to himself than to Thorn. Thorn heard him anyway, though, and growled as he flapped his wings hard against the air, fighting the wind to look as if he was going after the green dragon. Murtagh laughed at Thorn's near-jealously, patting his dragon carefully on the neck, _Don't worry; he's young, rash._

Thorn growled before roaring loudly, putting on a show, _And skinny. He looks like a girl._ Murtagh laughed openly again, leaning into Thorn's neck and closing his eyes, letting their minds merge blissfully.

* * *

I screamed at the sensation of Emerson beneath me, clutching to one of his dangerous, pearly-white spikes desperately as he pressed himself into a thinner line. My screams died away in the wind, which was hitting my face painfully, stray grains of sand pelting my body. "STOP! DOWN! HEEL! LAND! ABORT!"

I don't know what I'm hoping to do – I don't think dragons have emergeny-landing gear. Besides, Emerson doesn't seem to be thinking very rationally right now. He keeps babbling about voices and magic and death. Nothing is in a complete sentence, and every now and then there's an image or the memory of a sound thrown in there, but his feeling of panic is what's getting to me the most, for obvious reasons.

"LET ME GO," I finally yelled, and this phrase seemed to bring Emerson out of his freakish-stupor. He turned almost immediately, and had I not been gripping that single spike for my life, I would've flown out into the air and fallen in a neat splatter to the ground. Emerson paused in midair, and I took advantage of the stillness. The castle was nowhere in sight, leaving nothing but undistrubed red-gold sand surronding us in every direction. The view was both confining and freeing. I felt all alone in this cold, dark world with no one but my dragon and Pappy with me.

_Pappy!_ My mind screamed it, and I was shocked when Emerson responded, his tone amused as he started to gently glide towards the ground.

_That is not the name you gave me, child,_ he joke-scolded, and I rolled my eyes.

_My horse,_ I offered, figuring he wouldn't be able to hear me through the wind, _Did you remember to get my horse?_ A feeling of dismay passed through me, foreign, and I had my answer. "Pappy!" I shreieked aloud, and my heart began to break bit by bit. There goes that one bit of normality left in this world. There's a bunch of normality in my world, but I kind of get the feeling my world is a little passed what we can manage right about now.

_He is of little consequence to us; you won't need him for anything._ I could tell that Emerson honestly believed that, even though I knew he knew better. I mean, he can tell what I'm **feeling,** can't he? The panic that's slowly engulfing my body? We left him with that... that _man!_ What will he do to my Pappy? Make him work? Feed him to his dragon? Oh God, we're going back. _We're going back!_

_No, we aren't,_ Emerson replied sternly, _That man was... dangerous. Skilled, strong – we were lucky we got away at all! I am not putting you in danger anymore than necessary._

_It's dangerous for me to not have Pappy,_ I insisted, the thoughts tumbling from my mind naturally, as if I were used to the complete lack of privacy, _Please, you have to understand. I **need** him._

I could feel Emerson's disappointment reverberating through my heart, almost as clearly as if I felt it myself, and I felt bad. It was obvious that I was missing something about the bound between the two of us, something important. I was missing whatever was supposed to be our connection, whatever was obviously supposed to make me love him and care about him more than about my horse.

Emerson sighed, _Very well, we will return for your horse, but not tonight. Tonight it will be too dangerous. Tomorrow night, child. _I smiled, relief flooding through me. Even if we lack that cosmic connection, I trust Emerson. Maybe it's because I can feel most of the things he feels, or because I can hear his thoughts, but I trust him.

* * *

I took a deep breath as I knelt on a hill just in the sight of the castle I'd escaped from only a few days before. Even from here, I could make out Pappy's horrified shrieks and whinnies; I didn't even want to think what they were doing to him. He was so sweet and delicate and sensitive, not conditioned for working or being dragon-food.

Next to me, Emerson crouched, stuck in an almost meditative state. He was planning, trying to remember the layout of the castle and such. Every now and then I caught tidbits of his planning; he wanted to fly over and see what was happening exactly, but he didn't want to risk getting caught. Behind us, the sun had set about an hour ago, and Emerson was almost glowing in the late twinkle of twilight. It's almost hard to believe he was a boy, he looks so delicate.

I sighed, growing antsy at the sounds of my horse's panicked cries; at this point, I mine as well run for the castle and hope to not get caught, for all the good we're doing. My arm twitched, and I licked impatiently at the front of my teeth, _Can I go yet?_ It was strange, how living with Emerson for all of two days had somehow resulted in a strange comfort between the two of us; it seemed like almost a hassle to talk.

Emerson growled, without any hint of actual threat towards me but more at the annoyance of losing his concentration, _The more you disrupt the planning, the harder it is for the planning to get done._ I rolled my eyes – I didn't see why any planning had to be done; we aren't even sure these guys are actually evil! We're assuming it based on what – mumblings from when Emerson was a fetus? The fact that his dragon is red? Ridiculous. Let's just go and... ask nicely.

Alright, so I'm sounding stupider as my plan is developing, but still, it shouldn't be taking this long!

The explosion of sand next to me was startling, and I screamed accordingly, diving away from my dragon. I grimaced as my head came into contact with the unyielding hillside, but I knew I had to ignore it. Emerson's thoughts, while normally carefully articulated, were jumbled and panicked, and assorted curses he'd learned from me were finding their way into his vocabulary.

I screamed again at the sight of the red dragon biting savagely into Emerson's neck, ruby red eyes glistening with an animal-like hunger as he tried to force Emerson onto his back. Emerson roared angrily, trying to use his tail to flip the red dragon off of him, and I felt sympathy pains coarse through my body as I watched Emerson struggle for the next few seconds.

After those few seconds, I grew frenzied. For the first time, I felt a protectiveness over my dragon, supposedly awakened by seeing him in actual danger. I dove towards my dragon, only to feel a strong arm wrap around my waist, holding me back with laughable ease. Literally, he was laughing at me, in a voice I recognized as the red dragon's riders – deep, almost melodic, but not quite flowing enough.

"Peace, Rider," he whispered in my ear, "Soon you will be safe." I screamed, biting at the arm and clawing at the air as I felt a light pressure on my neck. It occurred to me that he was trying to knock me out, but let him try; I'm so determined, I don't think horse tranquilizer could knock me out. Someohow, not even the knowledge that Pappy was possibly being tortured could make me as despearte as I felt watching Emerson be thrown around like a chew toy. It's like I never realized he could get hurt.

Slowly, my vision started to fade into splotches, and my angry shouts faded into mumbles as Emerson lay on his back, defeated but not dead. I could still feel him too strongly for him to be dead. He was still in me, a part of me; he could still hear my voices, and I could make out his angry, annoyed mutterings as he tried to fight back, one last time. And then, with his defeated growl, unconciousness overflowed from my vision, and I blacked out.

* * *

Murtagh sighed early the next morning as he let his weight rest fully on his dragon's neck, deciding it was much too early for him to be up after two long days of searching. Not that he was actually tired, he was just of the opinion he shouldn't have to do it. Ahead of him, Ura'bean grew larger and more threatening, it's twisted towers nothing short of the perfect representation of who the castle belonged to. Below him, the city seemed black and dead. It was eerie, but Murtagh simply closed his eyes and blocked the image from his mind.

Thorn was silent, as he always was when they went to see Galbatorix. Neither wanted to risk allowing any openness in their minds at all, lest Galbatorix find the breech, force his way into their minds, and hear what they truly felt. Murtagh was nervous enough, going to him to say that he had caught the green rider. A large part of him wanted to turn back and let the dragon rider go or, better yet, go with the green rider to the Varden. But Murtagh knew he wouldn't, he **couldn't.** Galbatorix had too strong a hold on them.

With a swift dive, Thorn landed in Galbatorix's main garden, where their master was practising his sword play. Murtagh wanted to spit in the man's eye and turn around, but instead he just slipped easily off of Thorn and onto the ground. He then fell immediately to his knee and pressed his fist to his heart in the customary gesture. Next to him, Thorn fell onto his front legs, his head arching as he pressed his nose gently to the ground. Murtagh ground his teeth together to try and hold in the customary rage at seeing his magnificent dragon so humiliated.

"Ah, Murtagh, what news to you bring me," Galbatorix questioned, not at all pausing in his sword play until he'd knocked the sword out of his opponents hand. At this, he turned to Murtagh, who was still kneeling, "Have you found me the egg, yet?"

"No," Murtagh choked out, and had to push the rest out before Galbatorix had a chance to get angry, "We found the dragon. And the Rider."

"The blue dragon?" Galbatorix was more than interested. He actually touched Murtagh on the shoulder, an unspoken premission for Murtagh and Thorn to stand. Murtagh took a deep breath, skipping a beat to give Thorn the time to inch away from Galbatorix's wrath. Thorn didn't budge, knowing too well what was going on in Murtagh's mind.

"No, the green dragon. He hatched." Murtagh flinched, but the slap never came. Nonetheless, Murtagh didn't raise his eyes to his king's, but instead flexed his left calf and right arm reflexively, clenching and unclenching the joints as discreetly as possible.

"Damn blue dragon; had to let her get away," Galbatorix murmered, wondering away. Suddenly, as if an after thought, Galbatorix turned and flicked a finger, forcing Murtagh's chin to smack up and his neck to nearly crack. Murtagh took the pain silently as Galbatorix tested his boundaries, and after a few seconds the pain stopped and Murtagh was allowed free movement of his body once again.

"What would you like me to do, my Lord," Murtagh questioned dutifully, pushing himself onto his feet and clasping his hands behind his back. Everything had to be very formal with Galbatorix; staunch, even.

"Well, she'll need to be trained - bring her to me and we'll force her dragon's growth; he's no use of us wh-"

"He's already grown, sir; we think he's almost six months." And suddenly, Murtagh was against the wall, the flat of Galbatorix's sword pushing on his throat violently.

"And you didn't think to tell me?!"

"Slipped my mind," Murtagh choked out, not bothering to raise his arms in defense. It wasn't a matter of stronger, but more a matter of power. Instead of fighting, which was his natural instinct, Murtagh kept his eyes locked on Thorn's, trying to pacify himself with the knowledge that Shurikan was nowhere in sight.

"A slip like that again and I'll have your pretty little dragon, boy," Galbatorix threatened, his lip curling into an unattractive sneer. Murtagh grimaced momentarily as Galbatorix pushed on the sword a little more before backing off, his lip still curled in the sneer, "What do you think we should do with her?"

A million thoughts flew to Murtagh's mind, but he knew the right one instinctually, "Bring her to you, and you can train her." Murtagh expected a smile and dismissal, with orders to bring him the dragon immediately, but Galbatorix managed to surprise him. Murtagh hated it when he was surprised. He felt it showed a lack of forethought, and that it meant he had to think things through more carefully.

"No," Galbatorix smiled, "No, if we train her, we may end up with another you; things may _slip_ her mind." Murtagh shivered at the way the king said it, and took up his nervous habit of tensing his legs. Murtagh felt an inexplicable forebooding in his bones that told him nothing good would come from what Galbatorix was saying, even more so than usual. "I want **you** to train her; consider it your test. Gain her trust; do you know where she is from?"

"She told me she was from... New York, sir," Murtagh flinched, knowing that the place was obviously fake, "Her name is Liaden Ardal."

Galbatorix paused, his brow furrowed, "What a... queer name. Is she from the Eastern Deserts?" Galbatorix's eyes lit up at the prospect of someone who could control the lands that seemed forever beyond his control. Murtagh shook his head, letting his eyes stray to Thorn's.

"I have no idea, sir. She just said 'New York.'" Murtagh could leave out the, 'and then she escaped on her dragon' part. What would it do, anyway? He had her now, safe and secure and under control.

Galbatorix shook his head, a rare smile gracing his features with delight. He knew, despite how hard Murtagh tried to hide it, that Murtagh did not agree with anything his king did; he believed that the state they lived in was corrupt, and that training this dragon rider would both guarantee the victory of the war and prove the ultimate torture for Murtagh. "The answers are of no consequence; leave me, _Raynor."_

Murtagh flinched, but didn't feel any inclination to push his luck as he quickly jumped up onto a still-kneeling Thorn's back and prepared himself for the long flight back. Gain her trust, huh? Well, Murtagh figured he could accomplish that easily enough, with a few charming smiles and a bit of uncharacteristic charisma.

_It's wrong,_ Thorn insisted, his displeasure at the order too obvious considering how far away they were from Galbatorix. Murtagh shook his head, trying to shake off Thorn's persistant intrusions.

_I can't do anything to change his mind, and I'm not risking our hides for some girl._

_Not even for Eragon? For Nasuada? They'll die if we don't help them._

_We're training the girl._

* * *

_Step up to me, step up to me  
You wanna be a big-time player, it's not to be  
_Enemy by Sevendust


	4. Hey Mr Curiosity

I awoke to the distinct feeling of my hands over my head; it was strange, since I normally sleep with my hands under my pillow, or being used as a pillow. I tried to pull them down, to wrap them around my body, but I felt an unfamiliar resistance. My head ached, but I forced my eyes upon to see that my wrists were bound by shackles, or manacles... I'm not very up-to-date on my S&M terminology, but my wrists are held in handcuffs that are in turn bound on a long chain to the wall, and it's something that probably ends in 'ackles.'

I gave the handcuffackes one more half-hearted tug before the reality hit me – I was trapped in what is probably a dungeon in a really weird world without my handy-dandy dragon to save and protect me, and moreover without me to save and protect him. I didn't know if he could talk with anyone else the way he could talk to me, but I'm not sure how great he'll be at playing charades when it's our lives on the line.

I started to pull at the chains more desperately, mindless to the fact that it was very-obviously not helping, and at the same time I started to scream for help. Neither of these things were expected to bring about any results, which was why I was so surprised when no more than a half an hour later, the dragon rider from before arrived, an evil-looking smile on his face and holding a tray of food.

He sat carefully next to me, sliding the tray towards me, "It's not poisoned, I promise you." The thought honestly hadn't crossed my mind – no one actually uses poisons in real life. At least, no one normal. That's the mistake I keep making – I'm assuming these people and this place is normal, modern. They're not. They live with firelight and music without guitars.

I looked at the man for a moment before deciding to just be crass and to the point; I'm not big on mind-games. They take too long, and as I've grown older I've only gotten more impatient. I pulled at my arms, wishing I could cross them across my chest and look threatening, "Where is Emerson?"

The man laughed, the sound deep and echoing off the walls of my cell as he leaned towards me, his breath hitching against the top of my head as he ran his hands over my handcuffackles. They unlocked, and he smirked as he pulled away, "Is that the green beast or the bay beast?"

I narrowed my eyes at him, quite aware of the fact that he was most definatly teasing me, "The big green dragon, you dolt." The man's eyebrows shot up in surprise, but he quickly placed them back in their rightful place just on the edge of his brow, and I continued with a vain hope that I was actually the slightest bit threatening, "I want to see him, and I want to see him now."

"For now, you eat, and we talk." With the toe of his boot, the man edged the food towards me, and I grimaced at it. Gravy, and mush. Am I a POW? "I am sorry for this," the man gestured towards my restraints, which were now hanging nonthreatening against the wall, "I was out, and not informed that you had been captured. You weren't meant to be imprisoned."

My mind flickered, and I licked my teeth as my memories flashed in front of my eyes, "You did this to me!" The man smiled unknowingly, like he was listening to a story. I was... shocked. Shocked like he had been when I called him a dolt. But damn it, I don't back down for the animals, or dragons, I care about. "I know you did – I heard you laughing, I **saw** your dragon!"

"I was not with my dragon, I was visiting the court," the man corrected politely, "The general who imprisoned you has since been beheaded. Once again, my deepest regrets." I snarled, knowing better. His laugh was... distinctive. Like a flowing melody, only the record that was playing it skipped all the time. It rang in my ears and almost gave me motion sickness, it stopped and started so suddenly.

_Child?_ The voice was lonely in my mind, and desperately far away. My eyes widened, and the man noticed it immediately. He gulped, obviously thinking I'd seen something that had given away his ruse. Like I wasn't convinced enough that it was him anyway; I know dragons, or at least I know **my** dragon, and they don't take orders from anyone but their Rider, and they don't leave their Rider anywhere. Especially not in a time of war.

"My pardons, madame, I have forgotten my manners in my haste to right a wrong; my name is Murtagh, son of Morzan." He stuck out his hand cordially, and I grimaced as he kissed the back of my palm. That's just... corny. I didn't even think people actually did that back in the Renaissance times. "I must ask, where did you find your exquisite dragon?"

Oh God, I'm going to barf. _Emerson,_ my mind reached out for him desperately. Now that I knew he was there, within my grasp, I was getting more nervous. I wanted him there, to tell me what to do so I could see him again, so I could see he was alright for myself. "Where'd you find yours," I questioned, knowing I'd better keep up both conversations at the same time.

"Eat," Murtagh smiled at me again, a creepy sort of smile that made my spine itch and my teeth clamp to suppress a scream. I gulped passed the lump in my throat as my mind reached out for the familiar connection between me and my dragon. I licked the front of my teeth in the process, and Murtagh attempted to soften his smile, "Please, I insist. I feel so bad about this misunderstanding."

"Then let me go; let me see Emerson," I shot back; at this point, I just have a reputation to uphold. _Emerson,_ I called again, this time my feelings more panicked; I heard him, I know I did. And if he isn't responding, I don't want to know what that could possibly mean.

"No, no, eat first," Murtagh said, trying to sound like all this was for my own good, "And talk. I want to know more about you." Oh God, where's Emerson? This guy is creepy and I need to know what I should and shouldn't say!

_Emerson,_ I screamed out, and the man jumped. Apparently, he heard me.

He smirked when he realized what had happened, "You mine as well stop trying, Liaden; he can't hear you where he is." Immediately, my mind flashed to the worst possible outcome; great, I've got a dragon for three days and I've already got him killed. And Pappy's probably long gone, at that. And now I'm stuck here with this serial murderer who doesn't know how to unhinge his jaw or blink.

And then my mind jumped to something a whole lot creepier, "How did you know my name?"

The man laughed, this time smoother, "You told me, remember? Liaden Ardal of New York. Where is New York, I wonder. Are you a princess?" Psh, yeah right. If that's not a line, I'm a blond. Are you a princess – who does he think he is?

"Let me see Emerson, right now," I growled, digging my nails into my palms and wondering if being authoritative really worked. I'd never put it too much into practise, except with Conner. But I didn't even really need to be authoritative with Conner – I just asked nicely and he did it.

Murtagh tsked at me, "Are you not hungry?" His eyes were... deep. I couldn't quite bring myself to get over them, except for the fact that I was extremely focused on getting to Emerson. I can swoon over my captor like some bad romance novel any other day, just not right now. Right now I'm completely focussed on my dragon... and my horse.

"What about my horse? Is he alright?" My eyes grew wide, and I reached further with my mind, wondering if I'd be able to find him, _Pappy?_ I hope he knows his name, or at least the sound of my mind-voice. I mean, he has spent the last three years of his life with me. He should know who I am forwards, backwards, and sideways.

My search came back with nothing, so I concentrated instead on Emerson as Murtagh responded, "Your horse is perfectly fine; he is being given the best care." I wrote that tidbit off as a lie and continued to search. "As for your dragon, he is in perfect condition. He came with us willingly."

My eyes were sharp as they turned to narrow at Murtagh, who was calm and collected as he started back at me. Came with them willingly my ass – he was pinned to the ground by a dragon and was possibly already dead. _Oh God, Emerson, please don't be dead. I can't get back without you, and Lord knows I won't make it through a night here if you don't tell me what I'm doing._

"Please," Murtagh's voice sounded, and he almost sounded a little... desperate. Maybe even vulnerable. "Please," he questioned again, this time with a bit more volume, but still not to the point that anyone who wasn't within three feet of him could hear it, "Just eat."

I took a deep breath before I reached down, taking a forkful of the meat-gravy-potatoe substance. My nose wrinkling of my own accord, I shoved the food into my mouth and swallowed it quickly. It's not that it tasted bad, it just... had an awkawrd texture. More solid than stew, but more watery than mashed potatoes. It was... mush. It was almost the consistency of vomit. Eugh.

"There," I replied pointedly, dropping the spoon into the round-bottom-plate and staring up at him, "Now can I go and see Emerson?" Murtagh laughed for approximately the third time, this time it almost seemed... natural. It didn't halt, like he was trying to suck it in and shove it back down. I couldn't blink, and instead stared incredulously as he leaned his head back against the cold stone wall.

"You must be royalty – no one else would be so impertinent."

_Child?_

I gasped – Emerson's voice was loud and clear in my mind this time, his presence startling; he wasn't going anywhere. I had to get Murtagh out of here; I had to talk with Emerson ASAP. Murtagh glanced at me oddly, and it was one of those moments I realized that what I'd done wasn't just in my mind – I'd actually gasped. "Get out."

Murtagh's brow furrowed, "What?" I growled at him, almost like an animal; maybe Emerson somehow taken over my body, but I was confident in my lie for the first time in my life. I knew what I was doing, and I was going to have a temper tantrum until it worked and I could have conversation with Emerson in peace.

"Get out – you're pissing me off by not letting me see my dragon, even if I've held up my end of the bargain. We talked, I ate, and yet you still won't let me see Emerson. And so I see no point in this going on." Murtagh's jaw dropped as I pointed over his shoulder, towards the door. "Get!"

I almost flinched as Murtagh followed the path my finger was making toward the door, and then looked back at me slowly. His dark eyes were almost smoldering now that he had swallowed his shock and realized that I, the girl who had once been shackled to the wall, was giving him orders. And this time, he didn't think it was funny.

For a moment I sat there, once again captivated by his the depth of his eyes, like a pin drop that somehow led to yet another dimension, filled with just inky blackness and whatever emotion was passing through his body. They were almost like I'd always imagined Edward Cullen's eyes would be, only real and somehow more gorgeous.

My daydreams of vampires, which were suddenly not as far fetched as they'd once been, was cut short by when Murtagh stretchied his hand out easily to catch the palm that was supporting me, his hard fingers closing around my wrist before I heard the chain sliding around the wall. The iron closed around my wrist as soon as he let go, and I ignored the fact that it was magic to try and glare him down.

I screamed, though, as I felt the chain tug upwards, the other half reaching towards the hand that had been pointing, but was luckily now resting at my side. The other handcuffacle closed easily around it before pulling it upwards, so that once again I felt completely and totally exposed and defensless against this dragon rider.

I glared at him as he stood, brushing off the seat of his pants, "I thought this was all one big misunderstanding." Liar. You know just what you're doing, don't you?

"It's become apparent that keeping you locked here is for both our saftey, madame; there are more dangerous people in the world than me, and I'd rather rest assured that you are safe than let you be on your way so soon." Murtagh smiled thinly back at me, and I felt the desperate urge to break the chains and wrap them around his neck. Not that it would help anything – it would, in fact, probably make everything harder, but it still seemed nice.

Murtagh sighed before turning his back on me, and I continued to glare at the back of his head in retaliation as he strolled out the door. If I could only get out that door... _Peace, child; your anger excites me._ I snorted at Emerson before looking up and flexing my wrists experimentaly. The cuffs held, and I sighed and let my back rest against the wall.

_Are you alright?_ I bit my lip as I awaited his answer, hoping he wouldn't ask the same of me.

_I'm chained in what might be the basement of a stable; I smell horses. Are you alright?_ I grimaced as I sent him the image, complete with the food they fed me and the dankness of the walls. His anger was cool, simmering, as if he took offense to how I was being cared for. This seems backwards.

_Do you smell Pappy?_ The question was... pointless. But still, it doesn't hurt to ask, does it? It would really suck if we came all this way and he wasn't even here.

_Your horse is alive – his whinny is distinctive and the guards are muttering about a devil horse,_ Emerson assured me, and I could help but smile a little. Yeah, that's my baby boy – the devil horse. He probably hit one of those weird blue things in the horn or something. That a boy. _But there are more important matters – what are we going to do? We can't stay here, child. We're being held prisoner._

_I figured that out,_ I thought sarcastically, pulling at my chains for emphasis, _And I'm open to suggestions._

_Can you get free?_ Emerson was distinctly hopeful, but we both knew better. I've been magically locked into these... things; I have yet to see a key! As far as I can tell, they're controlled completely by magic and are thereby a mystery to me. I mean, Emerson did mention magic a few times, but neither of us are quite sure how it's done.

I sighed, _What do yo-_ I paused when my eyes fell to the ground, to the mush that Murtagh was so desperate I eat. _Hold on, I think I've got something._ I started to lick my top row of teeth in excitement as I came up with an actual plan, running it by Emerson in hopes of his stamp of approval.

Emerson's apprehensiveness echoed in my head, _I don't like it; I want something better. Yours is... too dangerous._

I snorted, _I think mine is as danger free was we're going to get; I just have to be quick and hope that there aren't so many guards outside. Hmm, you're in an underground stable?_

_Concentrate first on getting yourself away, child,_ Emerson reprimanded sternly, _I'm being treated just fine._

_Which is why you have yet to show me your surrondings. _I smirked to myself with pride before taking a deep breath, figuring any emotion would be understandable, especially nervousness, "Oh, guards!" The small window in my door was immeidately filled with the light blue visage of the nameless creature that seemed to be crawling around the castle. I cleared my throat, "Unlock my chains, please; I'd like to eat."

The guard looked to the side before leaning over, and I bit my lip. What could have possibly been wrong with what I said that there needs to be a conference? It was pretty straight forward, and I sounded genuine! Without a glance at me, a guard ran passed the window, and I heard his abnormally heavy feet plod against the ground in a militant, controlled rhthym. I hate people who can run.

I groaned, figuring that my only chance at freedom was shot; I couldn't even convince my idiot guards to let me out of my chains to do something as basic as eating, so much for then slipping passed them and running away really really fast. I can't even run really really fast! _Guess we're going to need to scratch that plan completely; maybe we shouldn't..._

My thinking was cut short when the door clanged open, Murtagh looking at me oddly as he let the door fall shut behind him. A total of one thought ran through my mind as I stared at him: _**Oh shit.**_ A random after thought included, _They brought out the big guns now – I really pissed them off. He might cut out my stomach._

Emerson growled, but I fought to quel his defensiveness while still maintaining the rouse hopefully. Murtagh looked at me curiously, apprehensively, through his black bangs, as if I was suddenly an enemy, and I deserved nothing less than the painful death of starvation which these chains promoted, "They said you were hungry?"

I grimaced for a second before trying to replace the grimace with a charming smile; the effect felt like what continually cursed Murtagh's otherwise very handsome features. God help us all, "Yeah, the... prison-like draft blew the smell towards me and now I could eat a..." Do they have lions here? "Horse. A small one, but a horse none the less."

Murtagh raised one dark eyebrow questioningly at my pause, but I consider Emerson's reaction to be worse. _I know what you're thinking, Liaden, but don't do it. He's not stupid – he'll see it coming._

_Hey, part of being a leader is being flexible, right? I'm just... stretching._

_**Do not do it! I can see what you're thinking!**_

I ignored my better half as I smiled up at Murtagh, this time the smile feeling a little less forced, but a lot more smug. Smug is probably one of those things I shouldn't be when I'm trying to convince some weird Lord-Dragon-claw dude to unlock me.

Slowly, Murtagh took a step towards me, his hand reaching out to grip my wrists tenderly, his eyes narrowing at the lock. I wondered if these things even had keys, but then my hands were free, and I suddenly freedom seemed within my grasp.

Emerson's relief spread throughout my body as I reached for the food, but I just smirked as my fingers closed around the edge of the plate. My dragon realized what I was doing all too late, and as Murtagh sat next to me carefully, I turned and swung the plate into his face.

Murtagh was ready, by whatever miracle of nature, for the food to be flung in his face, but I don't think he expected me the plate to shatter with the force I hit him. Above the sound of my standing and running for the door, I heard Emerson's wild chanting to sit back down and behave myself mixed with the trampeeding of the guards as they attempted to all get down the hall at once.

I threw open the door just as Murtagh yelled, "Stop!" If I had the time, I would have snorted – I just beat him up with flatware, and he expects me to listen to him? He's gone down about twenty points in my book just for falling for this plan.

As I took a step out the door, though, I realized he hadn't fallen for this plan – my prison door led to a long hallway, occupied by only the door I was stepping out of, and had posted guards on either side of said hallway. Now they had officially blocked the entrance, each of them trying to squeeze passed the other in an attempt to attack me. Or maybe eat me. I'm not quite sure what they want to do with me, actually.

I looked quickly, Emerson still urging me to go back to the basement, and ran towards the side that looked weaker. Of course, that was the side where they were smaller, and as I was halfway to them, with the complete intention of barrelling them over, one broke through the mass, and two more followed it. The blue, horned creatures were imposing as they stepped closer to me, the sound of their footsteps just as slow and methodical as their jogging had been.

It was in the moment that I was admiring this precision, simultaneously searching for an alternate escape route, that I felt my knees being hit out from under me. I screamed as I fell to the floor, twisting and landing on my side so I could see my assailant as being another blue-horned thing, this one with three more from it's side of the hallway. It smiled maliciously down at me when I heard a scream, so protective and loud that I almost thought it was Emerson's, "No!"

But the command was received too late as a large club, the creature's only weapon, was in full swing, about to be shoved into my skull and possibly break it. Honestly, I think that's the point. I closed my eyes, welcoming the bright flash of light and the strange serentiy that came with knowing your death was emminent as I waited for the club to come into contact with my head.

Ironically, instead all I got was a, "Stand down, soldiers. And never attack a Rider again." I recognized the voice as belonging to whomever had yelled 'no,' and then instantly connected it to Murtagh. I opened my eyes, and I was amazed at what I saw. It was like looking at the world through a lens the same exact red as the dragon and covered in white, pulsing veins and forming a protective orb around me, an orb which the creatures backed away from. Down the hall, through the film of red, I could see Murtagh, breathing deeply with a shallow gash across his forehead.

One vein pulsed particularly brightly in front of me, to the point that it almost sparkled. Feeling like a three year old, it distracted me from Murtagh and filled my thoughts with nothing more coherant than, 'ooh, sparkly.' Gulping down my fear, and continuing to ignore Emerson's lecturing, I reached forward to touch it.

"No," Murtagh screamed again, this time at me as my fingers came into contact with the vein. I was filled very suddenly with an electric shock, more intense than the electric fence we used at my barn, or any electro-shock therapy that was approved by the FDA. It coursed and surged through my body for a few seconds before the film of red disappeared behind the blackness of my eyes, my body giving into the physical pain.

_And dreaming doesn't do no good  
__Cause I don't wanna lie and say that I'm alright  
__I'd rather take it and forget it  
__Consider this a warning_

Consider This by Anna Nalick


	5. Teach Me Tonight

So sorry - I just had the uber bad week and a half. Like, **the** uber bad.

* * *

I woke up with a headache that was actually pounding through my head, my arms cradling my head carefully. Most of my extremities tingled, and my calves refused to stop twitching. But much more importantly, I was surrounded completely by an intense heat, and the bottom of my feet were pressed against the distinctly scaly side of a dragon. Somehow, I knew it was Emerson. I knew I was safe. I knew that by some crazy design of fate, my plan had worked.

The first thing I bothered to do was yawn, following up said yawn with a groan. My back was stiff, presumably from sleeping on stone for so long when I was used to a plush bed with lots and lots of comforters. Emerson's thoughts filled my head as soon as he heard my groan, _Child, are you alright? What did they do to you?_

I shook my head, yawning again and trying to stretch against the stone, which was luke-warm thanks to Emerson's amazing body heat. _They didn't do anything. I think I touched an electric fence._ The assessment made sense to me – the tingle that was slowly fading from my body felt nearly identical to the time I'd accidentally touched the electric fence that the stable back home used to keep the horses from jumping out of the pasture.

_What's electric?_ I finally opened my eyes just in time to roll them and experience their tearing up at yet another yawn. I keep forgetting I'm in a world without indoor plumbing or television. So much for explaining what electricity is.

_Nothing, nothing. How long have I been out?_

_About two hours,_ Emerson informed me, lifting a wing and bending his neck to peak inside at me, _Are you sure you're alright, child? It wouldn't be too big a chore to eat one of the guards; it doesn't even have to be one of the same ones that hit you. I could even eat that Murtagh fellow if you want._

"No," the idea of Emerson eating Murtagh shocked me into actually speaking. I shook off the sound of my own voice, which rang awkwardly in my ears, _No, he saved me from them, remember?_ Pursing my lips at my dragon, who was still glimmering and shining even without the sun, I showed him the memory of Murtagh somehow protecting me.

_And what is it that gave you this... electric sickness?_ I snorted in laughter – only Emerson would call getting shocked a sickness.

_It's not Murtagh's fault; I probably would've been fine if I hadn't touched it._ Why am I even defending this guy?

_You'd __**probably**__ be alright if he'd let us go, too, now wouldn't you?_ I sighed – whatever it was about Murtagh that somehow had turned him into a decent person in my view, if not also creepy and possibly sadistic, it obviously wasn't translating to Emerson feeling any kind of sympathy towards him.

_Whatever; I need something to eat,_ I informed him, crawling towards the opening at the front of Eragon's wing, cringing at the cool air that fell over me as I emerged from the dark, protective cover of my dragon. The door was on the wall to my left, and I headed towards it immediately. It didn't even occur to me that I might, you know, be restricted from food or whatever. What are they going to do – give me a paper plate? I need food, for heaven's sake. I stuck my nose obnoxiously through the small bars on the window, "Guard! Guard! I need something to eat!"

A guard appeared suddenly just in front of me, and I jumped at his large stature, as he glared down at me, "Why should I give you food?"

_Oh God, this is ridiculous._ "Because..." Alright, so I might not be able to think of an _exact_ reason as to why he should give me food. Not a big deal, right? "Because I'm a good person." I sighed up at him, licking the front of my teeth and figuring that if that wouldn't work, than what would. I gave up quickly, the rumbling in my stomach persistent and almost mocking of my position – as if it was telling me that if I had just sat there and eaten the food like a good girl, I wouldn't be in this situation. "Look, just go get Murtagh and speak with him." The guard turned his head, mumbling something in his language before looking back at me and continuing to glare. "Mur-tagh," I over enunciated, figuring it hadn't understood me, "Man with red dragon! Comprendez?"

"It is being done," the thing informed me stiffly, and I wrinkled my nose distastefully at it before sitting down against Emerson.

_I don't like those things,_ I informed him stubbornly. _They're weird and look funny._

Emerson's laugh rang through my head, slightly shaking the very core of my being before he settled on words to express his feelings, _Says the girl with a dragon; it's lucky you don't look so odd._

_You do look odd,_ I informed him, giggling to myself, _You're just also nice to me. They're just mean. All militant. They're probably some crazy paramilitary group that wants to take over the world._ Of course, at that moment Murtagh came swooping in like the King of the Dragon Riders, his chin held high and his sword's holder glimmering like it was made purely of jewels.

"You called for me," Murtagh questioned, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword and his eyes darting from me to Emerson.

_Did you do something to him when he came to leave me here,_ I questioned, sighing as my only answer was a few assorted images of Emerson's jaws snapping and the prison door slamming shut. "Yeah, just tell your goonies I'm allowed to eat food."

Murtagh swallowed, finally letting his arms fall to his side and leaning back into the wall just next to the prison door, "Yes – that was their instructions."

I scoffed, "So much for only keeping me here for my protection. What, scared I'm going to choke on a chicken bone?"

"No, from now on I've decided you will dine with me, upstairs. And once I think you're capable of taking any sort of care of yourself, you'll be given your own room."

My jaw dropped, "I'm completely able to take care of myself, thank you very much."

"And a master of forethought; you will be given dress for dinner."

My jaw dropped, feeling very obviously offended at what he'd said. Emerson, half in jest of me and half in annoyance with Murtagh's being within twenty feet of him, roared so loudly that the room shook and I had to dive for cover when a few of the ceiling stone's shook loose. His laugh filled my head, _I can hear him dodging stones out there, too._

I snorted, despite myself, and settled against back against Emerson's torso, suddenly all-too-ready to be out of this castle. Before, when he saved me, it was like he was actually following through with his promise that I wasn't actually a prisoner. Now, not so much. Now I'm stuck in here, admittedly with my dragon, counting the minutes until he's willing to feed me. I mean, I have to **earn** myself a scrape. _So, what's the plan?_

Emerson didn't seem phased by my change of heart, _I don't think either of us will be able to get much done while we're locked in a dungeon._

_So play diplomatic queen Rider thing?_ The plan seemed... almost cowardly, but at the same time it made sense. Somehow, though, I felt like I should just run him through with a sword and get this all over with. Like that will make everything easier for me, or whatever. God, I'm weird.

* * *

I grimaced as I looked down at the skirt, which was inordinately big on me and poofed out in random, uncomfortable places. _Emerson,_ I whined at the dragon, who at this point it pretty much my better half. _Emerson, I look like a doll, don't I?_

Emerson's amused laugh rang once again through my head as he tried to suppress his body's physical convulsions. _No, no, you look fine._

_Show me then, liar,_ I challenged him, and groaned as an image of me, pouting with frizzy hair and a large, gray-splotched poofy thing wrapped around my body. I mean, really, is all this lace necessary? It itches like it's pure wool, or a billion mosquito bites. Maybe this is my punishment for trying to run away; I knew being allowed to stay with Emerson was too good to be true.

_I honestly think you are wearing the style of the times._ Emerson's gaze was finally sympathetic as he absorbed how completely ridiculous I looked.

_Screw the style of the times; I look like I stepped out of a scrap drawing bin in Walt Disney! And it swims on me; when are clothes that don't fit ever __actually__ in style? How could anything on this dress ever be a style?_ Feeling authoritive, and more importantly comfortable, with my dragon, I picked up his front paw and used his claw to cut a large gash around the front of my waist and down the sides, smiling as the lace fell to the ground and revealed a light, flowing under dress. Or is it a petticoat? Hold on, don't coats go on the outside.

Whatever it is, it's more comfortable than scratchy lace, and I turned and carefully traced Emerson's claw along the base of my back. Emerson had completely let his arm go loose, probably out of fear of hurting me if he tried to fight me or do it himself. The claw was heavy, but I just managed to lift it high enough to cut off the puffy, middle part of my sleeves.

_There, much better,_ I decided as I confidently rested my hands on my hips, licking the front of my teeth as I looked at myself, _I can actually wear this, now._

_It's still much too big, _Emerson reminded me, and I rolled my eyes at him. It wasn't like Murtagh left me string in case I wanted to alter my dress; all I have to work with is whatever my dragon coughs up and a few bits of straw that I guess is supposed to be bedding, or something. Maybe if I could get the chains off the wall I could pretend to be all gothic/emo style, but I don't think that would be a good idea.

With an astoundingly loud grunt, the guard opened the prison door and motioned for me to come towards him. Emerson, as if it was a reflex, started to growl menacingly, but the guard obviously took no notice of his threat as he continued to grunt at me. I'm pretty sure he's telling me to hurry up, but I'm just inferring it from his grimace and his sporadic hand motions.

I sighed as I stood there, glancing between Emerson and the guard. _I don't wanna go,_ I told my dragon stubbornly, taking a moment to pout at him, _I don't like this plan anyway._

_This plan is going to get you food, Liaden,_ Emerson told me firmly, _Go. I thought you were starving._

_Yeah, but then I remembered what the food looked like when Murtagh tried to feed me before, and I've lost my appetite._ Emerson was both amused and annoyed, obviously wanting me to eat more than anything else. I could only bring myself to roll my eyes in response to his worry, which was completely unnecessary in my opinion. I mean, if we just break out of here fast then food shouldn't be an issue. My starving to death could be our motivation!

But I've also learned better than to argue with Emerson when it comes to me and my welfare – he always seems to think that he knows best. And so instead I let my head hang low as I stumbled towards the door, refusing to look back at my dragon in a vain attempt to make him feel guilty. Of course, instead his feeling of being satisfied spread through me, and I grit my teeth. Nothing about this dinner seems appealing… at all. It's got Murtagh, disgusting food, and no dragon.

Heh, who would've ever thought that a dragon not being at dinner would be a con, or even a part of the list in the first place? It amazes me, how much my life can change in just a couple of days. How much my attitude changed in the face of danger, and how natural it felt for me to be this way. Words seemed to flow easily, and my thoughts were uninhibited.

The stairs I followed the guard up were steep and jagged-looking, the torches flickering threateningly against the wall and the horns of the guard almost wavering in the quivering light. By the end of the steps, my breathing was slightly… off. I found us in the stables, just like Emerson had told me, and my heart broke when the first horse I saw was Pappy, his withers bloody and his ears pressed flat against his head in a threatening manner.

The guard grumbled as he walked passed Pappy, my own feet glued to the floor in shock as I looked at my horse; Pappy, the noble bay gelding who was almost as tall as the guard the punched him in the face as he walked by.

My heart squeezed in my chest – punching horses was a common practice in horse racing, meant to make horses more aggressive when they actually raced. Too bad Pappy is not a race horse, he's my big teddy bear. In the same way that I grew frenzied at the sight of Emerson being attacked, I nearly lost my mind at the sight of my horse being punched in the face by that thing's big, blue, hairy fists.

Akin to Xena, I let out a savage cry and dove from the thing's horns, some sort of strange logic telling me that they were the weak point and that if I could break them off, I could also win the fight. Digging my nails sharply into the thing's back, I tried to climb up towards the delicate-tips of the horns, Emerson's roar shaking the floor beneath us. The thing screamed, reaching around his back to try and get me. I felt like I was Tod in the Fox and the Hound when he tries to fight the bear, but Tod won, and I'm trying like hell.

Of course, it only took a matter of seconds before the thing grabbed me and flipped me over it's shoulder, grunting as it continued to drag me forward. I screamed, biting it's dirty arm and ignoring the taste of soot as I tried to rip it apart. Really, I don't see why anyone bothers to mess with what is mine anymore. And trust me – that horse is mine.

I screamed all the way out of the stables and out the door. It was when the cool breeze hit my face that my thoughts cleared enough to hear Emerson's scolding, _Study the landscape, child! If we ever want to make our escape, we need to know where we are going and what is where. _

I murmured a few obscene words under my breath as I spun and twisted in my guard's arms, trying to get a clear view of the landscape. Of course, it being just passed dusk, I couldn't honestly see anything to clearly, but I shared the image with Emerson begrudgingly, _There, happy? We're so getting my horse out of here ASAP; if I get him back and he so much as thinks about biting me I'm going to run them all through with-_

_Save your breath, child; I didn't come all this way to forget the damn equine._ I sighed in contentment, momentarily relaxing the guard's arms. Of course, it was at that moment I realized I was in a huge, blue-being-with-horn's arms, and of course my initial action was to rebel savagely. Not to the point of biting them, which the more I think about it the more embarrassing it is, but I can't just let them think that this is comfortable or anything. It's not – my knee is twisted at a weird angle and I'm freaking out about my horse.

In what could have been hours, we made it to the Dining Room, my journey there completely passing by before I even realized we were in the castle. The Dining Room was… kind of scary. Everything was made of a sickeningly red wood or painted black. Jewels sparkled in everywhere – in the surface of the table, on the silverware, in the candlesticks. It honestly seemed a little overdone for my tastes, and I couldn't imagine Murtagh having specifically asking for this, even if the red color was close to his dragon's. I mean, I know I don't want my kitchen done in emerald-green.

Murtagh was already sitting in a large, ornate chair that resembled a throne more than just a basic chair. His hands were crossed, and he didn't blink when he saw me being carried into the room. His hands were resting peacefully on the table in a position that almost made it look like he was praying, but in reality was more like Mr. Burns from the Simpsons whenever he says 'excellent.' Without so much of a word of greeting, the guard plopped me into a seat at the opposite end of the table and made his way towards Murtagh, obviously the commander of the entire thing-army.

With a few hushed words, Murtagh nodded curtly and the thing left, heading back out the door he'd brought me in through. Murtagh let a bit of a smirk find it's way onto his face as he leaned back in his chair, flicking his hair out of his face to see me clearly, "I've been told you attacked your guard on the way up here."

"I wasn't trying to escape," I snipped back at him, looking around for rolls. Do they do rolls in the eighteenth century? "The guard punched my horse; I retaliated."

Murtagh quirked an eyebrow, this time his face becoming serious, "And did the dress I had sent to you also attack the horse you so graciously left in my care?"

I glared at him, choosing silence over an actual answer. I mean, really, the horse I left in his care? I was tricked by my dragon – I thought we'd taken my horse with us! I would never leave him to the likes of an abusive Dragon Rider who is probably just tenderizing my horse for his dragon. I, personally, like to keep my animals alive and healthy, but just call me the crazy one.

Looking for a distraction, I looked around the room hopefully. It wasn't like there was a lack of things to look at – the room was covered in realistic-looking pictures in frames that were made almost purely of ruby or onyx. The shininess of the room alone could have amused me, if I wasn't fuming and an unwilling participant in this dinner.

Murtagh sighed as a bunch of trays were brought out to us, presumably the first course. Maybe the first course is a nice dinner roll and some butter. "So, I supposed you have a lot of questions for me; about dragons, about training, about the King…"

My eyebrow arched; the king? Training? "Uh, right." _Emerson, what do I do?_

_Lie to him,_ Emerson offered, the complete anti-moral being. _If he thinks we don't know what's going on, he'll take advantage of us._

_Emerson, I was raised in a world where none of this existed and am now in a world where we are, in all seriousness, prisoners. How in the world could he take advantage of us anymore?_ I smiled bracingly, though, "Just tell me how it all… fell into place for you."

"Well, I was once foolish enough," Murtagh started, the cover on the tray opening to reveal soup. Well, at least it's recognizable, "To have joined the Varden rebel army and fight against the King, forgetting entirely the way the world was before he came to our rescue." My nose wrinkled – I'm an American girl; kings sound like a bad idea to me.

"The way the world was?"

"Ruled by fat and lazy Dragon Riders – we were once a noble band of people; we lived above the king's laws, and enforced justice. But the last Dragon Riders, before Galbatorix led the revolution, put our people to shame. Thanks to Galbatorix, you and I can be proud to be Dragon Riders."

My brow furrowed, "If we can be so proud, why is there a rebel army?"

"People don't always like what's good for them," Murtagh shoved a cold smile onto his face, and I flinched at it. How does he always manage to look so… harsh? The soup was taken away by that moment, and I cleared my throat as I noticed the distinctly human servants who came and went throughout the meal. The next course was some sort of meat that I shoved into my mouth without discrimination. "So, Liaden." Again, he sounded harsh – I was already too used to being called 'child.' "Where did you find your dragon?"

I shrugged, _How much should I tell him?_

_Just make him believe that you know what you're doing in Alagaisa, even if it wouldn't make sense for you to not know about your country's war._ "I found him a bridge outside of the town where I live." There, honest enough without being too specific.

"And… where do you live," Murtagh continued to question, not even bothering to try and contort his face into whatever crazy shape would be appropriate with this question.

"Up North," I quickly made up. I hope they do things by North, South, East and West here. Because otherwise I'm so screwed.

"What village up North?" Oh… I should have seen that one coming.

"Oh, just a small one. Phila…York." I mentally slapped myself – like that was actually a real city anywhere. I could have just gotten away with Philadelphia or New York. That pause just gave me away.

Murtagh smirked at me, and for a second I remembered that there was a part of Murtagh that felt _real_ feelings, as opposed to the ones he obviously painted on for whatever reason, "You know, you don't have to lie. I know all the villages. I have no intention of hurrying there and burning it down, if that's what you think."

I let out a sigh of relief and shook my head, "I'd really rather not tell you. I'm… very protective." Hey, that isn't even a lie!

_Oh joy, Liaden._ I pouted before I remembered that Emerson couldn't even see me, and instead of Emerson I was talking with a real, live person.

"What did you say about training," I questioned, trying to seem casual. Because if this is like school, I'm just going to go back to my world now. Or die. One of the two.

"Training – for you and your dragon. Swordplay, battle techniques, how to use magic and such." Murtagh was rambling off a list of words I never thought would be applicable to my training in anything. Except swordplay, which I do know quite a bit of. Then again, I feel like if I lose a match here it's more than just shameful. It's dead…ful. "We can start whenever you're ready, although I would hope to start sooner rather than later."

"When are you going to train me?" If I ask the right questions, this boy just doesn't stop talking!

"After dinner – I'm busy during the day." Can we all say sketchy in sync, now? Sketch-y.

"Well, then let's start tonight," I offered. _Rather get all this done sooner; that way we have some idea of what to do when we get out of here._

_Agreed._

"A…" For a second, Murtagh just stared at me, completely speechless. "Alright. Just let me…" Murtagh droned off then, and I smiled as I slipped into secret conversation with Emerson. Every now and then, I caught sight of Murtagh's genuine smile, and I felt myself blush. It was like the more he spoke to me, the more comfortable he felt, and the more amazed he was. It was cool, to see anyone transform like that. And when he smiles, he's actually really cute.

_I'll not be bothered by you until I'm picking sides and pulling strings  
I'm living lies and shredding the skin; I'm open wide and letting you in  
I'm wronging rights_

Believe by Breaking Benjamin


	6. Shut Up Are you Ready

I sighed as I sat outside the stable, _You're sure you're alright, Emerson?_ The hay bale that I was using as a bench itched under me, poking me in awkward places and the wool tights meant to keep me warm didn't help anything, but I'm dealing with all that. I'm even dealing with the fact that this warrior outfit Murtagh gave to me is barely the size of an oversized T-shirt. Like… the slutty girls wear skirts only a little shorter than this. And even a few of them would be aghast to see me, Catholic girl extraordinaire, in this silver and green get-up.

Emerson's laugh was comforting, _I'm fine. The saddle is a little tight._ Obviously, Emerson is still in the stable… with Thorn… and not me. I'm pretty sure I'm going to be sick. Thorn apparently enjoys eating dragons, and he's gone after Emerson before, and Emerson is a very skinny boy! It's not his fault he hasn't had a lot of time to… bulk up. Thorn's on steroids, is all.

_I don't understand why I can't be in there with you. Murtagh's in there getting Thorn ready for the lesson._

Emerson snorted, _Murtagh didn't yell at the Urgals that they were putting on the saddle wrong._ Oh, yeah, I finally remembered to ask Murtagh what those damn evil guards are. Urgals, a species all their own. Like I didn't call that. He said he'd tell me more later, when I wasn't being dragged out of the stable.

…What? I've been riding horses since I was six; I know how to tack up a damn horse. Besides, the saddle was all wrong. No one should ever bedazzle a saddle. Saddles are expensive enough, and they don't belong on dragons anyway. Moreover, that saddle just looked damn uncomfortable.

_Don't forget to breathe,_ a foreign voice in my mind reminded me, and I screamed audibly. My body twitching, I suddenly found myself on the ground, covered in dust and my body screaming in angry pain at me. My hands had somehow shot to my ears, like that would get the voice out. Emerson growled in the saddle, and as the stable doors opened and Murtagh rode out on Thorn, I saw he was laughing, "I didn't think you were so jumpy, Dragon Rider."

I continued to try and force the breath out of my body before I finally put two and two together, "That was YOU?!"

"You didn't think the only person who could get into your head was your dragon, did you? You'll have to work on your boundaries; I can find anything I want in your head." Murtagh's smile was sly and cheeky, the expression forced but his eyes almost genuinely amused by his antics, almost like there was some filter in the rest of his face that let the actions through and strained out the emotion.

I sneered at him as Emerson followed Thorn out, reaching his nose out towards my shoulder, _Are you alright, child?_ I nodded as I ran a hand over his neck before gripping his highest neck spike, laughing as he flicked his neck so that I flew a few feet into the air before he let me down gently back onto my feet. Emerson's amusement rang through my head as Murtagh called out to me.

"I'm assuming you don't know how to fly very well; we'll fly down to a lake by here and we'll continue there. Now, to get on-" Oh, right. Like I'm going to listen to Mr. I-don't-feel-I-think on how to get on my own dragon. Without a second thought, I grabbed a hold of the front and back of the saddle, forced my foot into the stirrup, and awkwardly threw my leg over the very high end of the saddle, bending my arm and leg in a familiar way.

Four seconds of squirming proved my previous assumptions to be correct – the saddle was stiff as a board the rear dug into my back at an awkward angle. To make up for it, I leaned forward and sucked in my stomach in hopes of not hitting the front end.

"You're going to want to sit-up, Liaden." My ears perked at the sound of my actual name, and I sat up just in time to feel the earth shake as Thorn pushed off the ground into the air. In my mind, Murtagh's voice rang with startling clarity, considering he was at least a hundred yards into the air and rising, _Follow me._

_Ready,_ Emerson questioned, and I gulped as I watching him dig his claws into the ground. He's… a lot more excited about this than I am.

_What do I do with my hands?_ Completely valid question, but I'm not asking Murtagh. I'm not quite sure if I **could** ask Murtagh, even if I wanted to. He's a little far away.

_Brush your hair._

_Is that a crack at my hygiene? Cause I'm stuck in a prison cell right now and I-_

_You're ready; hold on._ I straightened my back as I simultaneously dug nails into the saddle. Sure, yeah, I've done this before. I've done it in the heat of the moment, with a lot of screaming and a lot of pain. I specifically remember pain. Sand hitting my face and super-human speed kind of pain.

I closed my eyes as gravity compounded around me and forced me forward onto Emerson's neck. _Don't worry; it gets easier to do this as you get more practice._ I grit my teeth at Murtagh's words, which were honestly very condescending. I… don't appreciate them. And I'd rather he left me to myself and get out of my head. Maybe if I think it loud enough, he'll catch it.

_GET OUT OF MY HEAD!_ Does anyone else have the bad and yet certain feeling that he didn't hear any of that, making all of this a complete, total failure.

_You could ask nicely, you know,_ Emerson commented as he straightened his neck, only a little ways behind Thorn. I rolled my eyes, running my tongue along my teeth carefully and hoping Emerson wouldn't suddenly jerk and force my teeth to clamp shut.

_Not you, Murtagh. Catch up to him._ Without another thought, Emerson gave one mighty flap, and almost instantaneously we were at Thorn's side. I didn't bother to look at Murtagh, though, mostly because I want to make it clear to him that he is NOT ALLOWED IN MY HEAD. I don't car-

_He's fast; that's good. _OH MY GOD!

"Stop that," I screamed, determined for him to hear me over the wind, "I don't want you in my head! Get away from me!" _Go faster, Emerson._

_He doesn't know where he's going._

"Get out," I screamed louder, and I could just make out Murtagh's loud, non-halting laughter over the sound of the wind blowing into my ears. That boy is… mean.

_But he's right, you know. I have no idea where I'm going._

_We find a lake and we sit there stubbornly until morning._

_I'm not sitting anywhere stubbornly until morning, thank you very much. You'll stubbornly freeze to death if you have to._ I smirked; sure, it was a little off base, but I'm flattered by Emerson's assumptions. I'd always wanted to be really stubborn and in-your-face. I'd never been able to manage it because, well, parents, but still. It seemed so… fun. Not to mention those girls nearly always get what they want.

_The lake is just ahead,_ Murtagh informed me, and I growled. Emerson took the hint and dove deep, his wings streamlining so that he feel below the cloud line quickly. The lake was… huge, and by the time we reached it Thorn was only about halfway to the shore.

I smirked as I slipped off Emeron's side, _Thank you Emerson._ Emerson's purr tickled my spine, and I giggled as he reached pack to poke at me with his nose, obviously wanting some physical recognition. I patted his forehead carefully until Murtagh was standing just in front of me. He was polite enough to use his voice, though, instead of invading into the inner sanctum of my mind.

"He's fast, that's good, now get up so he can learn some technique." So now he's not only captain asshole, he's captain moody asshole. I mean, I can deal with that, I've dealt with the worst teachers and I always come out alright, but still. It'd be nice if he could manage to hold on to one emotion for more than five seconds. Six would be… shocking, really. I don't think I'd believe what I was seeing.

I sighed as I stood, looking back at Emerson. His eyes were nothing short of breathtaking in the water's reflection of the moonlight, and he nudged me encouragingly with his nose one more time before pushing off the ground, following Thorn into the clouds and mimicking the older dragon's twists and turns. I ran my tongue along my teeth one more time before I pounced up, "So, what's first on the agenda, Yoda?"

Murtagh's eyebrow raised carefully, "Yoda?"

"Character… from a fable… back in my town." And all the pauses… mean I'm lying… kind of.

"Ah, yes, the Northern Alagesian town of Philayork. Charming place in the spring." I snorted at Murtagh's attempt at being carefree and funny, which was really just cheesy and slightly depressing.

I started at Emerson's voice, faded and covered with static, _Be careful about him, child._

I grudgingly accepted the words, assuming that as fast as he was flying he was out of the range of my thoughts, "Well, what do we do first?"

Murtagh sighed, "We'll start with swordplay, I guess. I don't know how much you know, an unfortunate consequence of you being a secretive student."

"Well maybe if you were a more perceptive teacher, you'd realize what I know." I am feisty tonight. Maybe it's the full moon and the proximity to water. "You'd also realize that I have no sword." And at that, Murtagh smirked in that cruel, cold way that really made me want to punch him and cry out in fear.

"You didn't think I'd start you out using real swords, did you? No, no, that is too risky." Still smirking, Murtagh looked around before holding out his hand. He murmured something that may or may not be the Urgal's language, and with a rush of sound two cylinders of water rose from the lake and flew to his hand, materializing into thick, hardy sticks. My jaw dropped as I tried desperately to remind myself to not be amazed, because this was probably really normal in this new world. His face serenely calm, minus the statuesque smirk, Murtagh leaned forward and handed me the stick. "We'll use these until you're ready for real swords."

I wrinkled my nose up at him, but he didn't noticed as he glanced around, "I don't think anything here should get in the way-" Oh, come on. He really, honestly thinks I'm that stupid? That isn't even just assuming I don't know how to use a sword, which I guess is kind of understandable, but assuming I have never in my life walked backwards for any reason at all. Grunting, I flicked my stick sideways, sending Murtagh's stick flying.

His eyes shot to my face questioningly, and I smiled, "I'm ready."

* * *

Murtagh sighed as we landed back at the castle, just in front of the stables, a few hours later. We'd worked on swordplay, which I was still limited to sticks, and discussed magic and flying techniques. He told me a little more about the Urgals, and then Thorn and Emerson made their welcome return. Because by the end of all that talking, Murtagh was beginning to be natural again, and then he was cute, and I almost would forget that I had to find a way out of here.

Almost. Not completely. I'd paid enough attention to what he was actually saying that I thought I could form a basic defense against his prying into my mind that would at least hold him off for a few seconds and give me fair warning to stop thinking mutinously, and I practiced the skill while simultaneously listening carefully to everything Murtagh said. Every little bit counts, and luckily enough I'm an auditory learner.

With another heavy sigh, Murtagh and I swung off our dragons and they led themselves into the stable, where they would be untacked and then they would go their separate ways. I would've followed and harassed the Urgals a little more, but Murtagh stood around with that serious 'I need to talk to you' look on his face, and I felt slightly obligated to stay behind. Just on the ride back I realized how much more comfortable I was on Emerson, both because his take –off was smoother and because I knew was more certain of what I was doing. And, well, that's Murtagh and Thorn's doing, right? Sure, it's their doing in the bitter cold, and it all ends with me in a prison cell, but at least they're doing it.

"I've made a decision, Liaden," Murtagh started off, not bothering to try and force emotion into his voice. I was, honestly, grateful; listening to the forced stuff is like trying to live off skim milk when you've gone your whole life with whole. It's just wrong. "I will not be locking the door to your cell tonight. Honestly, it's inconvenient to have to have your guards come and get me every time you need to leave or get a little thirsty." You mean… I can leave? Cause if I ca- "In case you try and leave, there will be guards posted at either end of your hallway. I don't suggest you try crossing them; I won't be there to protect you."

… The nerve of him! Won't be there to protect me my butt – I could protect myself if you manned up a little and let me use a real sword while we were out at the lake when it was below freezing out a- _Easy, child; we don't want to lose what little trust we've gained._

"I would have you put in the castle, but your room is not yet prepared and I don't think you want to be away from your dragon. Breakfast will be in five hours, so I suggest you get some sleep. Good night." With a brisk bow that I was probably expected to mirror, Murtagh turned and was off to the castle at a very brisk pace, his back hunched over.

"Good night," I finally called after him, aware of just how stupid I sounded. I mean, there was the tiniest bit of consideration of what I want at the end, there. Murtagh might actually have a heart! I should be playing a celebratory tune on the trumpet right now! Parades should commemorate this day! A lion sh-

_Let's not get too carried away with ourselves, Liaden._ I rolled my eyes as I turned back towards the stables, taking the few steps into its toasty warmth, which was achieved only because there were two dragons living in it. Emerson, upon seeing me, reached his neck towards me and nodded towards my stairwell down to the dungeon. To get in and out, Emerson would have to go back outside and down a small hill, the duration of which he was be chained by the neck to three different Urgals. Yeah, I'm not too happy about that, either.

Pausing to bite at my cheek and lick my teeth, I turned towards the prison stairwell and started to head down it, stopping when I reached Pappy's stall. Seeing that the Urgals were preoccupied with chaining Emerson, I turned to my horse, whispering to him with the hope that he would recognize my voice and calm down. Pappy continued to press his ears flat against his head, but his actual expression changed. He wasn't angry, he was just scared, and instinct wouldn't let him let his guard down for a moment. I swear, the first thing I'm doing when I get out of here is making him better.

Carefully, and still muttering to him, I reached forward with both my mind and my hand, trying to calm him. I had no success, and he shook my hand the moment I touched him. Whatever openness that had let me talk to him that first day in Alagaësia was long gone now, blocked on his part. Really, I need to prioritize; first I'm going to kill all the guards, **then** I'm going to get my baby horse better. In that order.

With a couple steadying breaths, I turned towards the stairway and started back down the stairs to what I'm going to think of as my room as opposed to my cell. I was careful, partly because I was tired but mostly because the steps were so steep and sharp that if I should miss one and fall down, I get the feeling that they will hit my body in all the right places and make me bleed so intensely that I'll die.

The prison was cold, and yet as I heard a mage muttering the words to rearrange the wall so that Emerson could walk through into his cell, the hallway filled with a strange warmth that I'd come to associate with the safety and comfort that Emerson provided me with._ Don't dawdle, child, we have much to discuss._

With a very un-me-like burp, I rushed forward into the stall and smiled when the guards only shut it behind me, not rubbing the decisive click of the lock in my face. The idea that my door wasn't locked made me feel ridiculously free, considering there were still guards almost literally surrounding me. And not just guards – Urgal guards. They're, like, the supermen of the guard world. They can kill you with their horns, they're so badass.

_Focus,_ Emerson ordered, nearly growling at me in frustration. My face falling slightly, I sunk back against Emerson's front leg, crossing my arms over my chest as he proceeded to fill me in on what information he had been able to glean from Murtagh's lectures. _When we leave, we must head South towards the mountains. Any other way and we're doomed. The only problem is he refused to tell me which way South was._

I snorted, letting my head fall back against his rough hide, _Doomed? Did you come up with that all by yourself?_

_It's actually the exact word that Thorn used, thank you very much._

_And why would we be doomed?_

_He didn't say, but I would trust him._ With a slight shiver, I realized that Emerson was deadly serious. Doom. I seriously thought real doom existed anymore, but then again I'm still forgetting what century I'm in. Damn. _Anyway, anything but South is doom and I should be able to breathe fire within the month._

Feeling myself tighten, I glanced towards his head, _Fire? I don't remember you saying anything about fi-_

_I know you're lying, Liaden,_ Emerson reminded me. I sighed, my head hanging low as Emerson rested his face between his paws, almost glowing at the idea. I mean, I'm not afraid of fire or anything, I just don't like the idea of Emerson, you know, breathing fire. It seems dangerous and cliché. Besides, what if he, I don't know, hurts himself? Or Thorn considers him a threat and goes after him? I shouldn't be given idle time. I worry too much.

_Well, I found out from Murtagh that our guards are a species called Urgals, known for their extremely war-based culture. _In my head, I mentally ticked off the things I learned, _I found out the whole magical theory stuff, like how magic takes energy and jewels hold energy and stuff like that that probably won't help us escape. I paid attention, I just didn't care about any of it._

Emerson's snort this time brought forth a cloud of smoke, and again my entire body tensed, fighting the joy that Emerson was whooping around in my head. My God, he's acting like a teenage boy who just found his first chest hair. _Did you see that? Did you, Liaden? I wasn't just imagining it, right?_ My Lord, if there was ever a time to block him out of my brain.

We won't say our goodbyes , you know it's better that way  
We won't break, we won't die - it's just a moment of change  
All we are, all we are is everything that's right  
All we need, all we need: A lover's alibi

All We Are by One Republic


	7. Hate is a Strong Word

This is weird - because these chapters are twice as long, I'm at the point in the story where the romance starts to really develop; the problem is that in my head I'm like 'but it's only chapter seven!' Wierdness.

**Fun fact:** [for those of you who don't read my other stories, fun facts are random little tidbits about the story, production, concept, etc.] Originally, Liaden was going to be named Faylinn and Jen, Garrett's girlfriend, was going to be named Lillith. But then I realized that Paolini has another character with a nearly identical name to Faylinn - Fäolin

* * *

I slowly started to suck at my teeth as I stared at the pebble that Murtagh held in his palm in front of me. Apparently, I'm supposed to make it hover now. Of course, I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing and was eavesdropping on Emerson's conversation with Thorn the entire time Murtagh was explaining the complexities of magic to me. Tonight just… isn't the kind of night to work, you know? It's strangely warm, here in my wool tights and short school uniform, as I've come to call it. And the lake looks so sparkly in the full moon.

Murtagh sighed, his fingers folding up and his voice a little harsh, "Do you even know what I want you to do?" I rolled my eyes, feeling particularly playful.

"Uh, duh, I'm supposed to be making that pebble levitate." For another few minutes, we sat in silence. I, personally, was perfectly content staring at the pebble, which was a strange, deep blue color with flecks of white that swirled endlessly before my eyes. I don't mind that Murtagh is slowly getting annoyed with me – Emerson and Thorn are within distance of seeing me, and apparently Emerson is freakishly fast. He'll get to me in time.

"Do you realize how frustrating this is to watch you try and do," Murtagh questioned, and instead of getting offended I fell onto my back into the sand, which was scratchy and made me squirm like a small child.

"Do you realize how epically boring this all is," I asked him right back, my voice whiney. Really, I just want to actually do something; he talked about magic and its responsibilities with me for, like, an hour before he even told me how to do anything. And now what am I doing? Levitating pebbles. I don't even know the true name for a pebble.

Murtagh rolled his eyes, "It's a basic exercise."

"**Exactly,"**I replied emphatically, "It's basic. Do you know what I would be doing back home?" God, I never thought I'd miss everything they gave me, but I never realized how boring doing things slowly really is. "I fence, I ride horses competitively, I paint, I'm tutored, I _tutor,_ I take all accelerated clas-"

"And on top of all that you breathe as well, I assume, but I don't really care. Magic is dangerous and the first thing you need to learn to do is focus it on something that isn't dangerous." Murtagh dropped the pebble onto the ground and brushed his hands together before falling back onto his palms, glaring slightly at me.

"It's dangerous, but you offer up your hand as a platform? What happens if I misdirect my magic and your hand goes flying off?"

"I'm confident in my ability to defend myself from any magic you can perform as of yet," the boy, man, responded, the glare remaining in that same, stony place, and yet just a hint more lively than most of his other facial expressions. I kind of want a real facial expression… what can I do to make him feel so intensely that he'll look like a person?

"Tell me about the happiest moment of your life," I offered. Hey, I figure either the question is so off base it will surprise him into a real expression, or the memory will actually be happy enough that he'll forget he's supposed to be all stoic and cold. Either way, I'm figuring on a win-win situation. And maybe a story is just what I need to help me remember how to focus. Maybe I can't focus because I was up so late last night.

"The day Thorn hatched for me; now, about this pe-"

"No, no, that's cheating," I waved my hands at him, forcing him to arch an eyebrow in a way that was so close to real I wanted to shake him, "You have to describe what exactly happened and what you really felt and such. You can just tell me about the happiest day of your life in all of five words."

"I did it in six; magic i-"

"**More,"** I insisted; really, has he never told a story before in his whole life? Most of the time when I ask him about dragons or the empire he can't shut up. But ask him about one personal story that's not even completely unrelated to the previous two topics and he clams up and starts to lecture me about… boring stuff.

"What more do you want? This has nothing to do with your training." Oh, yes it does. Anything that has anything to do with dragons has something to do with my training, if I twist it the right way. Really, I have no attention span tonight. It's like I've got senior-itis, or something worse.

"It has everything to do with my training – I never got to have a day when Emerson hatched; I should know what it's like. For reference."

"You didn't have a day when Emerson hatched?" Oh… poop.

"Well… he hatched at night." This should be good. "I, you know, fell asleep."

Murtagh's head flipped back as he openly laughed for a split second at my horribly-crafted lie. Really, at this point it's just as dangerous to have me lying as it is to tell Murtagh everything and see if he… experiments on us. Really, though, what can he do? It's not like Emerson will have been the first dragon to force his own growth, right? And I'm certain that I can't be the first Earth…ian to come here. It's just… not possible.

_I probably should alright this with Emerson._ I knew he'd say no, though, and so I pushed on passed the childish part of me that claimed I needed permission to do this. It's my history too, right? "Emerson used my energy to speed up his growth; the amount of energy necessary to… do everything made me faint; when I came to he was almost six months, even though he says I'd only been out a day or so."

The moment the words came out of my mouth, I knew that I had gone too far. Murtagh's eyes lit up, and for a split second I thought he might call me a witch and throw me into the lake to see if I'd float or sink. I forgot that I was in a world where that kind of stuff isn't normal, but it's still amazing. I don't even think they have a cross to burn me at. But still, that look of genuine interest is… attractive, but disconcerting. As much as I like it when urtagh has an actual feeling, I get freaked out majorly.

After a moment, though, the look dulled, and he smiled, "Thorn's growth was forced, too; not to the extent that Emerson's was, and Thorn didn't do it himself, but it was forced nonetheless. In preparation for a battle." Murtagh leaned in, a genuine smirk finding its way onto his face, "Besides – I figured he'd forced it somehow. I'd only lost his egg a few days before you showed up."

I honestly have no idea whether that makes me feel better or worse; either way, I'm not throwing in the part that I'm from another planet. Of course, the part that is honestly mine to tell, and I can't even think of a decent way to say it. And to think – I do well in my English class. Then again, I'm not sure how being able to analyze the Scarlet Letter and figure out Hawthorne's opinion on the Puritans has anything to do with telling your Dragon-Rider-Mentor that you're from another planet. Hawthorne was simple; this is… awkward.

Murtagh pulled away from me, "Thorn was born literally the size of a small housecat, but solid like a tree stump. He didn't stumble or wander around when he was born; he walked confidently to me and he touched his nose to my palm, and I knew that there was no mistaking him; he wanted me, he'd hatched for _me._ It felt like the first time in my life that I could call something truly mine, and I… I loved it. I loved the idea of him being meant for me."

I wasn't sure which emotion was most prevalent as Murtagh finished his recounting of his happiest moment – shock that he'd actually told me something about his life, something that felt almost forbidden to talk about, or honor because he thought I was worth sharing something with. _Maybe telling him about Emerson wasn't such a bad idea,_ I considered.

Murtagh shifted awkwardly, and I took that as my cue to jump in and offer up something sappy, "When Emerson first hatched, I thought he wanted to eat me." Murtagh snorted as he dropped the pebble into the sand, taking to drawing circles with his left forefinger instead. "But… he calmed me down, I guess. He seemed so scared that I wouldn't like him that I couldn't help but like him. And then I was pissed when he touched my palm and stole my energy. That killed."

Murtagh's face drew back into a half-hearted smirk as he studied to patterns he was drawing, his lips pursing more and more as he sunk, presumably, deeper and deeper into thought. I glanced towards the shore where Thorn was circling Emerson, and I felt the familiar pang of protectiveness take over my body momentarily. _If you could not look at me like that; I'm training for land-combat and you're very distracting. _

_Well, make your lesson over; mine is._ Seriously – Murtagh is lucky I paid attention through the stick-play part of the lesson, because that part was just painful. Really – I was distracted enough that Murtagh hit me in the back of my knees nine times and once in my stomach. He's a take-no-prisoners kind of guy.

_Liaden, would you ple-_ My eyes had trailed away from my dragon eventually, despite the urge I'd felt to somehow fly over and protect him. But at the loud roar, followed by Emerson's exclamation of, _DAMN IT,_ it was kind of hard not to look and see what had happened. It was one of those times, though, that as soon as I looked to see what was happening, I immediately wished for the ignorance of the previous moments back.

Thorn had leapt at Emerson, probably sensing that my dragon was distracted. Emerson was not struggling helplessly beneath Thorn, who was digging his claws into Emerson's stomach and biting at anything he could reach. I leapt to my feet helplessly, figuring that there had to be something I could do to get Emerson out of the fight. Besides, Thorn needs a good talking to about learning to respect a conversation between a Rider and their dragon.

Of course, Murtagh's arm looped around my waist just as I was about to dive into the lake; I looked over my shoulder at him, accepting that once Murtagh had a hold of me there was no way to get away. Murtagh looked… slightly livid, and a little amused. His eyes reflected the moonlight in a way that was… entrancing, especially as Emerson's cries of pain died away in my head and was replaced by a rare silence.

Murtagh smirked down at me, "You'll have to learn to be a little more subtle, and have a little more forethought, Dragon Rider." I huffed, whatever momentary spell the moon had cast entirely broken. I hate it when he calls me Dragon Rider – it's like the equivalent of calling me an 'it,' or something. I supposed Dragon Rider is something, but I'd much rather be called by my name, thank you very much.

"My name is Liaden; Liaden Ardal." He… probably didn't need that second part. Defiantly, I shrugged his arms off of around me and took a single step closer to the lake, refusing to look at him.

"And where do you hail from, Liaden Ardal?" The question was almost a challenge, like I wasn't telling him where I was from because I was scared or something. I'm not scared – he can't do anything to my world. It's literally worlds away. It's just… not a good idea to tell him. Murtagh knew I wasn't going to tell him, though; whether or not he knows why is an entirely different story, but he knew I wasn't giving up the name of my hometown that easy, "You'll learn to trust me, Dragon Rider."

At that moment, Thorn responded to a unheard command, leaping into the air before gliding carefully towards us. Emerson followed suit easily, despite where I could see gashes and bite marks bleeding from his side. The blood, which looked black in the lurid moonlight, hit the lake water with such force that a small wave erupted at each side, and grimaced. I couldn't ride him back. _I can't ride you back._ "I can't ride him back." And that, children, is called repetition. It strengthens my resolve.

Murtagh snorted, "Then how will you get back?"

_Child, don't be stubborn – I'm fine. The fly back is easy._

"I'll walk for all I care – I'm not riding him back." Yes, that was necessary. "Bring me a horse. Point me in the right direction. I'm not making him carry me."

_You weigh practically nothing! I'm a __**dragon,**__ for goodness sakes!_ Emerson landed next to me with a snort, shoving his head between me and Murtagh so that I was forced to respond to him.

_And you can fly faster without me on your back to get scared and slow you down._ Murtagh had already jumped onto Thorn's saddle, and he rolled his eyes down at me.

"Please, just get on him. He'll be fine – it's what he was built for."

_Exactly! Get on!_

"No," I responded to both of them, my eyes attracted to the oozing cuts, "You mine as well leave me here because I'm not getting on you like that!"

_I'm not leaving you here like this!_

_You're going to go get your cuts-_

"I'll stay with her, dragon," Murtagh offered, slipping off Thorn's back fluidly, "You go get bandaged; the guards can bring us horses. I just hope her majesty realizes how much time this will cost us." Murtagh's glare was pointed, but I ignored his sarcasm in favor of sitting stubbornly on the ground. Emerson's eyes flashed at me, and I could feel his anger at the situation.

_I won't leave you alone with him._

I rolled my eyes, "You do it every night." Emerson's eyes narrowed again, this time in annoyance at my bringing our argument into the realm of actual recognition. "Emerson – go; the longer you stay here, the longer I have to sit here, and the sand is itchy."

With a final glare and a protective nudge to my shoulder, Emerson pushed off the ground and started back towards the castle, following Thorn's example and stream-lining himself to catch up with his master. As Murtagh took a seat next to me, turning to face the lake, I began to suck at my teeth, the image of Emerson's wounds stuck in my head. They looked so… painful. I feel like an idiot for thinking anything different, but just the look of them was sickening.

Murtagh took a deep breath before he finally said anything, "You know – it could have been worse. It usually is, when dragons get into a fight. Tho-"

"Shove it," I responded immediately. I really don't need any reminding right now that Emerson somehow got off easy; nothing about that was easy. It was… unnecessary. Disgusting. Like a bad dream.

Murtagh's quiet laugh just barely caught my ears, "You're a strange girl, Liaden." At least now I have a name. "Why does him being hurt bother you so much? He's going to have to fight with worse; after all, we are in a war, and there are other dra-"

"Look, you're not helping," I snapped at him, taking a moment to glare at him before I went back to pretending he didn't exist. Well, hold on, I need to know something. "How long do you think it will take the horses to get here?" After this, he doesn't exist.

"Oh, another half hour, maybe." Great. Splendid. Fantabulous. Maybe I just should have ridden on Emerson back – I have the feeling Murtagh won't leave this whole 'refusing to ride Emerson when he is hurt' business alone until I'm either crying or I kill him. Or I get over it, but we've got a better chance of hell freezing over. I will not be the reason my dragon gets so hurt he can't fly again, or something.

At that moment, of course, the dust and sand that literally made up this forsaken desert filled my nose, and I was forced to sneeze and make noise. Very much against my will, might I add; Murtagh didn't respond, but still, I don't want this to somehow translate to friendly terms. He and I are obviously not friends.

"Why are you so protective of him?"

"Because he's my dragon, okay," I shot back at him, too frustrated with his asking to care about whether or not I should actually be telling him this. Anything to make him shut up. "He's the one thing I have anymore, now that you've taken my freedom and are keeping me from my home." That actually made a little sense. Never mind that it's a good ninety nine percent truth – I'm not spilling the rest of my guts out to him, even though I'm angry! "Do you get that, **Rider?"**

Murtagh sighed, looking at me for a moment and catching my eyes. In that second, he looked… human, for nearly the first time. I took advantage of the moment, wishing I had a photographic memory so that I could take a snapshot of all the hidden meaning I wish I could make out underneath the thinning layer of anger and coldness, "Yes."

* * *

It was one of those moments sent from God when I saw the Urgals galloping towards us on the horizon, the horses they rode too large to actually be horses as they dragged along two other normal-sized horses behind them. Of course, God ruined it all when I found that one of the horses they'd brought was Pappy, who despite looking a little better than he had last night, was in worse shape than Emerson. Really, do these Urgals have no brain? Is the area where their brains should be just the base of their horns, because if I was refusing to ride my dragon because he's hurt then why would I agree to ride my abused horse!?

Murtagh stood in preparation for our departure, even before the Urgals had slowed enough to a stop for me to be a hundred percent sure it was my Pappy; the horse was a huge bay with Pappy's face, and I was basing my assumptions on that. "I'm not going," I informed Murtagh, trying to sound polite. I don't know how I feel, except amazed that Emerson let them leave with Pappy, thinking I would be willing to ride him.

The dark-haired boy spun on me quickly as the Urgals pulled their horses to a short stop a few feet away, "What?" His eyebrows shot up under his unkempt hair, and I had to concentrate on the fact that no one was riding Pappy back instead of the fact that he looks genuinely surprised, an expression which looks unnecessarily amusing on him. "And why not? His mane is too short?"

"No – he's been abused. I've seen your men do it – he's got gashes all over him!" Murtagh's face hardened, his eyes burning into me. Frustration had taken the place of surprise, and stolen most of his beauty with it. What's sad is that I actually mean only most of his beauty – the intensity of his eyes, though… as long as he really feels what he's showing, he'll be beautiful because of those eyes.

"Then I'll ride him."

"No you won't – no one is riding that horse; he's _my_ horse." I didn't think I'd have to give this lesson twice in one night, especially since I'm not supposed to be the teacher. Honestly, I expected more from Murtagh; when A equals B and B is mine, then you can't ride my abused animals! Whether or not that made total sense has nothing to do with the point; the point is that Murtagh needs a brain.

"Then what do you plan on doing to get back? Would you like my Urgals to ride back and get your dragon for you? Or perhaps a magic carpet?" I froze at the first… actually humorous thing he'd even almost-yelled at me spewed from his mouth. Murtagh took that as a sign of his victory, and leaned down to pull me up harshly by the arms, "Now, this isn't that hard; he's tall, but I'm sure you've done it befo-"

"No, I'm not riding him back; I'd rather ride with one of the guards than ride Pappy when he's like that." For a second, Murtagh looked down at me, and it was then I realized just how dangerous a position I was in; Murtagh, me, and two Urgals, with no one but a de-spirited Pappy to help me. This is starting to scream bad idea. _Emerson…_

If he heard me, he was too angry at my not riding him to reply. Murtagh, though, didn't take any foreboding step closer, and more importantly he didn't just roll his eyes, grab his sword and lop my head off. That part's key, too. I started to suck at my teeth, wondering why he looked so… pensive. What was there to think about? I'm not riding Pappy. Simple. If magic were that si-

Oh my God I'm in the air!

That was… shocking. Did you guys know Murtagh's shoulder is really bony and uncomfortable to be hoisted up on like a sack of potatoes? It's not a well-known thing, I'm sure. I get the feeling I'm one of the first people to be carried by Murtagh, Ruby Rider Extraordinaire. But really, I don't think it's possible to under-rate the feeling of his shoulder digging into my ribs.

My heart sunk as I felt my bottom be forced into strong contact with a horse; Pappy, no less. I shouldn't have pushed my luck – I should have just ridden Emerson home. I could be asleep by now if I'd only ridden Emerson home. Well, not home, but you guys get what I mean. Now I have to ride Pappy.

Pouting as I turned to face the right way in the saddle, I realized something… strange. Pappy was suddenly at least a hand shorter and chestnut with a skinny neck and almost no mane. "I've changed my mind; watch out – get on his neck." Murtagh's voice surprised me, but his strong hand pushed me over the palmal and momentarily onto the horses' neck, where I felt supremely uncomfortable. I tend to land on the horse's neck just before I fall to the ground.

But Murtagh kept one hand wrapped securely around my arm as the other did something that resulted in a few clinking noises, followed by the saddle being pulled off and my body sliding back into place behind the horse's whithers. "Now stay on, alright?"

I had half a mind to tell Murtagh that I was perfectly capable at riding a horse, if not better than he was, when he shocked me. Really, I should just stop expecting things from him, because he never ceases to surprise me. He shoved the saddle at one of the Urgals, who accepted it begrudgingly, before turning to Pappy and undoing his saddle.

Once that business was taken care of, Murtagh shoved handed Pappy's reins to an Urgal and said something to them in their language. Nodding, they took off at a slow canter, a pace that Pappy seemed comfortable enough with. I bit my lip, wishing that I didn't have to worry about him keeping pace at all, but I figured I was lucky enough that Murtagh wasn't making me ride him.

By the time I'd watched Pappy disappear into the distance, Murtagh had conjured up a stone tall enough that he could mount the horse we were riding behind me, his leg swinging out carefully. "Thanks," I muttered, honestly not liking that I had to thank him. I couldn't help but remember that if it wasn't for him, I probably wouldn't be in this situation.

Murtagh paused halfway through his motion of leaning forward to pick the reins out of my hands. His arms literally were frozen uselessly on either side of me, like the word had turned him into a statue. He sat there for a few minutes, and I wondered if I'd offended him; maybe 'thanks' means something else in this world, and I just told him to go… screw himself, or whatever.

Without another word, though, he leaned forward and took a hold of the reins, like it was safer for him to be driving or whatever. But, at risk of offending him more than I probably already had that night, I let him take the reins and instead dug my hands into the horse's mane, trying to feel out what we were doing before Murtagh kicked the horse to do it. Why? Because otherwise I'll fall off and die. I knew Murtagh had a reason for having me ride with him.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

_Breathe in, breathe out, tell me all of your doubts  
__Everybody bleeds this way, just the same  
__Breathe in and breathe out, move on and break down  
__If everyone goes away, I would stay  
__We push and pull, and I fall down sometimes  
__But I'm not letting go – you hold the other line  
__Cause there is a light in your eyes, in your eyes_

Breathe in Breathe out by Mat Kearney


	8. Do You Feel Like A Man

I considered giving up and dying as I stumbled down the stairs towards my cell, amazed with myself that I could ever associate the word 'cell' with something good. After all, cells are notoriously bad, used to confine many a free-spirited individual such as Emerson and, ever since I fell into this world and my every thought was open to speculation, me.

But I didn't take the time to dwell on my newfound brain; I was dead tired. Riding bareback with Murtagh was much more trying than I originally anticipated it to be, mostly because it was physically awkward. Despite his kindness, I didn't really want to be close with him. Especially if we were going to escape; I barely even wanted to like him. Scratch that, I don't.

I better get all this out of my head before Emerson decides to pop in. Kittens; I've only been thinking of kittens. _Emerson,_ I called out in my head, falling into the door and letting my weight force it open. When I opened my eyes after turning to close the door, though, I was shocked. _Emerson, what happened?!_

There was a gooey-yellow substance rubbed all over Emerson's cuts, but more disturbingly he was completed chained up. I had to duck and weave through the chains to get to him; they were wrapped around his body, his mouth, and were used to pin his tail to the ground. The chains were thicker than my forearm easily and colored a deep, shimmering black. Most of them were looped through holes in the ground that I hadn't really paid attention to before, but there were a few that weren't – two around his neck that were attached to the base of the wall, one around his midsection that was attached about six feet up the wall, and four attached to his legs anchored a few feet up the wall with only a big of slack to let him move.

_Wh… what happened to you?_ I ducked and jumped over the chains attached to the wall in an attempt to get to his side, wondering what I could do to help. If only I actually knew magic. _**How**__ did this happen?_

_When they grabbed your horse to take for you to ride, I nearly killed them for you; I'm surprised that you're back, actually._

_But how?!_ And I thought seeing him attacked by another dragon was the most disturbing thing I would ever see. I don't think I've ever been so dead wrong in my life. It was a step more confining than prison, and he was ten times more free-spirited than I was.

_When twenty Urgals rush you and you can fight them off, then you can expect the same of me; until then, understand that twenty of them is a little overwhelming._ Fair enough. I just don't like being reminded that Emerson is, in fact, vulnerable and, more importantly, we aren't free to do what we want. Sure, Murtagh happens to be liberal and trusting of us generally, but the same can't be said for his troops.

"Guard," I demanded, turning and stomping. Really, being free-spirited isn't so bad. A guard appeared at the window, "Unlock him. Immediately."

"The release of prisoners requires the approval of the Lord of the castle." Lord of the castle? I thought you guys took orders from… wait, hold on, this is Murtagh's castle. Got it.

"To hell with his approval; undo the chains or I'll use them to beat you until you're raw." That was just a classic threat. I deserve no credit for that.

"She can't very well beat you without any chains. Stand down," Murtagh ordered, and I sighed in relief as his face appeared just across from mine in the bars. The sudden closeness startled me, and I would've stumbled backwards even if Murtagh hadn't thrown the door open into me. I mean, talk about personal space – any closer and he would've shoved his abnormally sized nose in my eyes! Talk about a pathetic way to die. Or go blind.

Murtagh sniffed as he looked over Emerson's condition, looking over his shoulder at the guard and hissing something in their language. The guard hissed back and Murtagh nodded, muttering something under his breath. For a moment he stood there, his eyes turned upwards. Every now and then, his eyebrow shifted or his head nodded, and I didn't realize what he was doing until I looked over at Emerson and realized what I would be doing that would make my facial expressions randomly change.

In that instant, I wanted more than anything to be able to read Murtagh's thoughts; why would he need to be talking to Thorn about any of this? It's not like Thorn can't take Emerson down if he tries to rebel. With a definitive, nearly imperceptible nod, Murtagh turned to me, "I'll release him from his binds when you tell me where you've come from and answer all the other questions I have."

Oh, he's a… a fink. I don't even know what that means, but I heard it in a play once and I think it's, like, 1960's cursing, or whatever. All I know is he's a fink. _Don't do it; not on your life._ Thanks, Emerson. That's helpful.

Of course, I know things Emerson doesn't know. Like that Murtagh is already fully aware of the fact that Emerson forced his growth. That idea might factor into this a little. The memories flashed through my head of their own accord, and Emerson's response was immediate. He almost tore the chains from the wall, which would have solved our problem altogether, but he didn't, therefore not solving the problem at all. In fact, I'd go so far as to say he made it worse.

At that moment, all the Urgals who had been charged with my 'protection' rushed into the room, throwing themselves onto Emerson and punching him. For a few moments I stood there, shocked as Emerson's powerful roar shook the floor. His painful curses rang through my head, breaking my heart. Like I was stuck in some sick cycle, I watched as Emerson was beaten for those few seconds.

A flash of light caught my attention, and to my horror I realized that one of the Urgals, in their desperate attempt to tame Emerson, had taken out their sword. I ran forward, Murtagh not grabbing me for whatever reason. I jumped onto the Urgal's back, and immediately I was reminded of riding a bucking Bronco. The Urgal screamed, his sword flying harmlessly over my shoulder as he scratched at me in an attempt to get me off. Eventually, he succeeded, and sent me flying backwards in the same general direction of the sword.

I expect to hit the world, or even more ironically the sword, but instead I hit a soft body. Well, not soft, but he was softer than the wall, that's for sure. Before my eyes, a thin red coating of energy, the same as the one that Murtagh had used to protect me when I'd tried to escape, spread over Emerson's entire body. For a moment, it paused, having covered Emerson from head to tail and moving with his frenzied struggles against his chains. And then it exploded, forcing all the Urgals to fly back into the wall.

Murtagh was yelling in the Urgal-tongue at them, but I didn't pay attention to his screamings as I let my eyes wander over a newly-beaten Emerson. Quickly, once he realized the Urgals were gone, all struggle and energy had left him and he fainted. His cuts from Thorn's previous attacks had opened up, but the rest of him just looked swollen. I doubt that dragons actually bruise, but then again that's the only way I could explain what was happening to him. He was slowly developing bruises all over his body. And he looked so… lifeless. Usually he twitches or something when he sleeps, but I don't think he could move, even if he wanted to.

And with a wave of nausea, it hit me. I did this to him; I'd told Murtagh I shouldn't have in a blind moment of trust and girlish fantasy, and now Emerson had been beaten for the second time that night; the second time because of me, no less. With a harsh intake of breath, I turned on tip-toe and buried my head into Murtagh's shoulder. It was instinctual that I hide my crying from the bewildered Urgals, but maybe I should have been more worried about Murtagh seeing me.

Either way, I guess it's hard to see me with my face shoved into his neck and my body literally shaking against his. I nearly lots my balance a few times, sobbing into him almost violently, but I managed to stay on my feet, despite the fact that he obviously wasn't comfortable with this level of closeness and didn't wrap his arms around me. Instead, his voice just quivered a little as he continued to scream and rant at the Urgals. I felt his arms flailing wildly around me, but I just shoved my body closer to his for the balance.

_Sleep, Rider,_ I felt my legs suddenly sweep out from under me, another arm waiting to catch my back as I slipped into his hold. I fought him nearly immediately; it didn't quite make sense, but I blame him for Emerson's near-death experience just as much as I blame myself. They're his Urgals, and it's his dragon. I just can't keep a secret – he can't control anything. He might even want to kill Emerson. Actually, it's very likely he's going to kill Emerson.

But at the same time, the power of suggestion is very… suggestive. The fight left me when I remembered what Emerson had looked like after his fights. Murtagh was murmuring things that had the possibility of being calming, if I would stop screaming to listen. With a start, I felt the cool air of freedom – I was outside. I don't know why I'm outside, but after a few moments I was once again surrounded by the comforting warmth of fire and shelter.

With a strangled gasp, I went limp in Murtagh's arms, and before I could even begin to think about what he was saying, I fell into a deep, pained sleep.

* * *

I was staring directly into a green dragon's eyes, but they weren't Emerson. This dragon was… darker. His eyes were narrower, more cat-like. And he was glaring; there was nothing good-natured about him; his strangely-long neck stretched towards me, his mouth open in a breathy-snarl, his lip curling defiantly in aggression. A low growl emitted from his throat, and he reminded more of a wild animal than a dragon.

His back legs tensing, the dragon jumped at me, and I screamed as a lighter-green streak jumped into him from the side. I recognized his coloring immediately, but I couldn't feel him with my mind. Instead, there was more of a solid brick wall built all around, confining me indefinitely. My fists clenched as I watched, knowing that I wasn't allowed to interfere with this; this was Emerson's battle, not mine.

But still, despite the fact that I knew there was a battle going on behind me, I couldn't stop staring at the fight before me, which was nothing short of epic. The darker dragon was smaller, but stronger and his longer neck gave him a definite advantage. Even when Emerson could get him pinned for a few short moments, he could never hold it because of the other dragon's long neck Emerson was still at risk of being attacked.

I screamed as the dark green dragon bit into Emerson's neck, near the base of his head. I could almost feel the teeth sink into my neck, cutting off my air supply as they squished my throat and almost severed my spinal cord. Talk about sympathy pains.

With a pained shake of my head in attempt to simultaneously shake the pain off, I realized that I had just watched Emerson be killed. _Dead. Dead._

* * *

I woke up to realize that I was literally screaming the words. A woman, just a year or so younger than me, was shaking me, "Miss! Miss! Wake up!"

"De-" The word died in my throat when I realized that I wasn't watching Emerson die. On the contrary, the entire room was cast in a soft, bright light attributed to the transparent curtains that covered the windows. _Windows? In a dungeon?_

"Oh, thank the lord you stopped that yelling, miss," the girl advised me as she moved away from me and towards the curtains, pulling them back, "I was scared you'd wake up those horrible creatures."

"Who are you," I asked. In all my time I'd never seen a girl. Anywhere. In this entire forsaken stretch of desert. I mean, they have to have some, logically, but still. In the castle? And I've never seen her? Alright, I'm about to have a serious talk with Murtagh about keeping this from me. That boy is ridiculous.

"I'm Kiana; I'm a woman of the desert." Oh, right, that explains absolutely **everything.** Or it would, if only I knew what the hell she was talking about.

"What? When did you come here?" Why are you here? How do you feel about running away? Do you know how I might be able to? I wonder if you can read minds.

"Oh, just last night. I'm very excited to be here, though," the girl replied, smiling at me as she poured a glass of water from a pitcher.

As she turned to me and sat on the edge of my bed, I flinched. She smiled so… widely. She leaned over, handing me the glass of water before nearly falling on her back to fluff my pillow, "Wh… huh? What are you doing here?"

"I'm your Lady in Waiting. Please, mistress, drink up; you have breakfast in an hour."

"Are you from London," I questioned, my mind working at much to slow a pace for me to actually reason out that… her being from London was impossible.

"What are you saying, Mistress?"

"Nothing, nothing; you said I have… breakfast?" Breakfast… breakfast… I should be more concerned with other things, but my dream has me very… disoriented. _My dream! Emerson!_ "How's my dragon!?"

"Yes, breakfast with Lord Morzanson. And you're dragon is just fine, miss; your gracious Lord healed his wounds last night."

"He is **not** my Lord!" There were more important things in that sentence. Like the fact that Murtagh healed Emerson. You can do that? I mean, obviously Murtagh can, but when will my power be that… developed? How long has Murtagh even been a Rider, anyway?

"My apologies, Mistress, but you must be ready nonetheless."

"Don't call me Mistress," I ordered, falling back into the recently fluffed pillow and stretching to put the glass of water on a bedside table. Everyone here has a thing about names; I like my name, honestly. Liaden. Very mystical. Very fitting of a world with dragons and… Urgals.

"What then shall I call you," Kiana questioned, leaning over to poke at the fire. Embers jumped up at her before shooting forward onto my rug.

"Liaden; call me by my name."

"Oh, no; thank you for the offer, mistress. The Lord would have a fit."

"The Lord could have a fit of seizures for all I care; my name is Liaden, and that is what I want you to call me."

"Well, then, Mistress Liaden-" Close enough. "-After breakfast, you've got an appointment with the tailor."

"The… tailor?"

"Yes, now please get out of bed; you'll have to be dressed for breakfast."

The **TAILOR?** "Murtagh," I shouted, ignoring my mistress and jumping out of bed. Enough is enough; where the hell is Emerson and why aren't I in the dungeon?! "Murtagh," I continued to scream as I rushed out of the room, freezing when I ran outside and recognized the hallways.

There were two guards outside my door, and I ducked on instinct when I made eye contact with one of them. Of course, they looked at me oddly, and I felt like the ultimate fool. I looked around, then, trying to orient myself to where I was on the castle. Looking out a nearby window, I realized that I was in completely new territory – the second floor.

I turned to the guard, "Where is Murtagh?" The two guards looked at each other before nodding, as if they'd spoken through the same secret bond that connected me and Emerson. And then they pointed down the hall.

"Second door down, mistress; I'd suggest you knock."

"My name is not MISTRESS!" At that, I turned and followed the direction the Urgal was pointing; I really don't have any other choice. I'm going to have a serious talk with Murtagh about… something.

"You got me a Lady in Waiting," I bellowed at Murtagh as I charged in, shocked at the sight of him nearly half-naked. Apparently, I'd walked in on Murtagh… in the midst of putting on a shirt. I didn't really see a lot, but it's the thought of what I **could** have seen that is most terrifying. I mean… he could have been naked. No wonder the Urgal suggested I knock; I might have to start listening to the ones in the castle.

Murtagh, though, didn't seem at all fazed; he probably sensed my anger the moment I woke up, "Yes. I thought it fitting, you being permanently moved to the castle."

"Perm…" My voice died for an instant before I came up with a reply, "What happened to staying in the stables?"

"It was becoming increasingly complicated to keep you there," Murtagh explained, his voice completely void of emotion, "It wasn't worth the manpower when I felt you were trustworthy enough to be kept in the castle." He makes it sound like I'm a dog or something, and I've finally been… potty-trained. _Now please, Liaden,_ Murtagh's voice was cool and soft in my head, _There's no need to let the entire castle know that you are so angered by being trusted._

"It's not the being trusted that angers me; I want to stay with Emerson," I growled at him, only the fact that he was in my head and could **feel** my anger keeping me from continuing to scream at him.

Murtagh sighed, "No; I won't allow it."

"Too bad," I responded. Really, does he actually believe a pesky little thing like him not giving me permission will actually stop? I'm from… Philayork. _Yes, I can still feel you in my mind, jerkwad._ God, I'm… snappy.

"You'll simply have to make do with sleeping in a bed as opposed to under Emerson's wing; most people would consider it a trade up."

"Is Emerson alright," I questioned rudely. Sure, Kiana had assured me of my dragon's safety, but I had to hear it from him. I may not trust Murtagh with a lot of things, or even give him a lot of credit on most days, but I trust that he won't lie to me about Emerson. Thorn just… means too much for him to want to mess with that bond, right? At least I wouldn't want to mess with any Rider/Dragon bond. It's too… powerful. Wild.

"I healed Emerson last night; he is now lofted on the ground level of the stable."

"And why do I need to see a tailor today?" Oh yeah, I actually have a memory; the reason I jumped out of bed and stormed over here was because I have a meeting with a tailor. Such trivial matters.

"So that you can find some clothes that actually fit," Murtagh explained, very nonchalantly making his way passed me towards a bookshelf to my side. I didn't even notice until now that we were in a small library – and Lord knows why Murtagh was in here with his shirt off. This certain library was… dark. All the wood was a dark, supernatural red that glimmered to the extent of almost being bloody, and the only reason I could make out anything happening in the room was because of the fire Murtagh was keeping burning.

Still feigning nonchalant-ness, Murtagh wrapped an arm carefully around my back and directed me back around towards the door, "And why can't I wear my own clothing?" I started to suck at my teeth habitually, though only Lord knows what was making me feel nervous.

"Because all you have is one outfit not fit for any Lady of the court to be wearing; now, if you told me where you lived-"

"No," I cut him off as he turned, closing the door to the study behind him and locking it carefully. His sigh of disappointment didn't catch me so off guard as the striking beauty of him as the sunlight hit his hair and face when he turned to look at me. I'd never really… seen him in the sunlight before. Not since my first day in Alagaësia, when other things were definitely more important. Unsure of what else to do, I followed Murtagh as he brushed passed me, heading towards Lord knows where, "Where did Kiana come from?"

Yeah, my mind works in mysterious ways. "She was captured in a raid of the nomadic peoples in the Hadarac desert three nights ago. I was hoping the King had found a suitable Lady-in-Waiting for you, but she had escaped previously and-"

"Why was she captured?" It may sound stupid – the answer is, well… obvious. But I want to make sure that I know what I'm blowing up at him about before I actually blow up at him about it. Just covering all my bases.

"Because she was who the soldiers got their hands on."

Alright, that's what I thought. "You got me a **SLAVE!?** NO! Take her back! Release her immediately! Retu-"

Of course Murtagh, being absolutely no fun at all, cut off my line of orders, "What do you mean she's a slave? She's tribute – a tax."

"She's a **slave,** how barbaric are you? Take her back to her tribe and take her back **IMMEDIATELY!"** For a second I actually couldn't breathe because of the force with which I'd managed to yell that at him, but I quickly got my breath back and was able to look at Murtagh's reaction.

He seemed… shocked. His jaw literally hung the tiniest bit open as he stood there, trying to decide whether or not I was faking. "I… You want your Lady in Waiting to be taken from her place of honor within the kingdom - being the first Lady in Waiting taken from the savage tribes – and returned to her homeland?"

"Yes," I replied. He makes it sound so… far-fetched. I'm sure she can't be the **first** woman ever taken that didn't somehow work her way up to Lady in Waiting. "What made you even think I'd want a Lady in Waiting, anyway?" Completely valid question – I don't even think I have the use for a… Lady. What do you do with them? Have them make tea and drink funny looking biscuits?

"Well," Murtagh actually sputtered a little, but he covered it up with nearly flawless logic, "It's customary for all Ladies to have Ladies in Waiting; I thought that her being… not quite the normal Lady might help to make you feel more at home in the Court."

That's actually… sweet.

_You and I got something, but it's all and then it's nothing to me  
__And I got my defenses when it comes to your intentions for me  
__And we wake up in the breakdown of the things we never thought we could be  
__I'm not the one who broke you, I'm not the one you should fear  
__We've got to move you, darling  
__I thought I lost you somewhere but you were never really ever there  
__And I want to get free, talk to me, I can feel you falling  
__And I wanted to be all you need, somehow here is gone_

Here is Gone by The Goo Goo Dolls


	9. I Need You to Spill Your Guts

Full title: I Need You to Spill Your Guts; Until Then You Can Runaway

I'm very sorry to say, my dear readers, that I won't be updating next week. It's exam week for my end-of-term, and for the first time in my life I'm legit-failing two classes.

* * *

I sighed as I fell into a familiar place against Emerson's fore…claw, _So, you feeling any better?_

Emerson stretched beneath me, his claws scraping through the hay and into the wooden floor in a way that was probably dangerous, _Could be worse. Could have had one of them stab me in the eye with a knife. They I'd be out an eye and still very sore. Instead, I'm just very sore._

_Maybe we should cancel our lesson tonight,_ I suggested, trying to keep all ulterior motives from my mind, _I mean, if you're sore, what can you and Thorn really get done?_

_You just don't want to have to deal with trying to make the pebble float again, do you?_

Emerson's tone was accusing, and I quickly agreed, fighting to suppress the memory of Murtagh as he walked down the hall next to me after breakfast, bathed in the mid-morning sun. Sure, we'd very obviously seperated, but it was like he was forcing the image of himself into my head just to see how long it would take to drive me crazy. The problem isn't him and the way he's kind of handsome, or even the way that the sunlight looked when it reflected of his hair, which in turn had somehow fallen in front of his grayish-brown eyes. None of that was as disturbing as the look of genuine laughter that filled his face and almost lit up the hallway of its own accord.

No, no, I'm not letting Emerson know about any of that. I don't actually have a crush on Murtagh; I think Murtagh is disgusting because my dragon intrinsically knows that we don't agree with him and his side of the war. And yes, for the record, that all sounds very ridiculous indeed, but that doesn't change the facts anymore. Those are all facts. Except the crush part. That part's just a… a theory. As to why I can't stop thinking about him. A theory that's WRONG!

_Yeah, I really hate having to float those pebbles,_ I tried to be genuine, and I would've succeeded if the relief that he'd bought the lie hadn't flooded through my body at the end. Irony – my celebration that I got away with it was the sure sign that I'd actually gotten away with anything.

_Child, what is it you don't want me to know,_ Emerson's deep tones filled my head, and I closed my eyes in a vain attempt to somehow defend my most recent memories from his inquisitive eye. All I have to do is not actually think about them, or anything. Just clear my mind; even if Emerson suspects something, he won't be able to prove it. A shocked feeling flooded through my mind, then, a feeling that was very much not my own. Emerson began to roar, and I quickly scooted away from his twitching claws and towards the stone wall of the stable. _WHAT DID HE DO TO YOU?_

"Nothing, nothing," I screamed back, panicked by his shock and how he was expressing it physically. The guards, though, took it as their sign that 'nothing, nothing' was wrong, and they didn't have to storm in and defend me. I saw them ready, looking at each other should I change my mind, "Stand down," I ordered them, and at that moment the memory of Murtagh saving me from having my head bashed in on my first escape attempt came to mind.

Emerson nearly roared, but instead suppressed it, instead only letting a deep, rumbling growl trickle out. It was still menacing, though. _You are not to act on these… things. Is that clear?_

Oh God this is awkward. _These things? There are no things – it was a passing thought; a momentary attract-_ Emerson growled again, and I skipped over the ending of the word –_that was really just __**momentary**__ and he'll never know about it or even notice anything is different. We can escape tonight, if you want._

Carefully, Emerson tucked his legs underneath his body so that he looked more like a roosting chicken than a menacing dragon. His neck arched gracefully, and I sucked in a breath when I thought about the dream I'd had the night before. Emerson's eyes flashed to mine, and with a few quick moments he saw the main points of my nightmare. I watched as his body relaxed a little, a complete contradictory to mine tensing at the idea of Emerson dying, before he stretched his neck out towards me, nudging my chin carefully with his nose, _Not while you're still in this world, my child._

The last thing I wanted to think about were the implications of what he'd said – that he could die once I left this world – but they came to mind. Would it be worth it for me to leave if I knew Emerson would have to die in the process?

* * *

My eyes blurred out of sheer laziness as I continued to stare at the pebble for the second night in the row, this time with an idea as to what should be happening, but no real drive to do it. Magic just… isn't my thing. I want to go back to stick-play; that's fun. I get to randomly hit Murtagh in the head. And then he screams and curses and I just laugh at him. Now that's what I call good schooling.

I sucked at my teeth for a moment before deciding to ignore my teacher's instructions, confident that I could get away with it here in Alagaësia, most of all with Murtagh. He's just not being very strict or angry tonight, and with no Emerson no one is here to tell me to concentrate when the dragons randomly fly over, twisting and turning and mock-fighting.

I looked Murtagh dead in the eye, nearly knocking him physically off-balance he was so surprised. "How can I block a memory from my dragon?"

Murtagh's brow pulled down into a scowl as his eyes searched my face slowly; he hadn't forced his way into my brain all night, for whatever reason, and I guess he's trying to refrain from doing it now. I appreciate the thought, but I'd also rather he didn't care why I do what I do at all, so go figure. "Why?"

I sighed, "Because there are things about my life before him that I'd rather not know." Heh, that's actually kind of the truth.

"It's not an easy concept; you should probably learn to float the pebble first. It is a very basic first exercise." If he says that it's a basic exercise one more time I'm going to very basically shove that pebble in his eye. See, that threat I think is very original – I take credit for that one. Only no one heard it.

"I want to learn what I'm going to use; this is something I need to master now."

"Why would you even want to keep a memory from your dragon? One of the best things about your dragon is that you don't need to keep secrets from them. They're a part of you." Had this been yesterday, I would have been shocked at Murtagh speaking so candidly of an actual human emotion, but his emotions, though still rare, fairly exciting, and exceedingly attractive, are not my main focus at this moment.

"Please, just teach me," I would've begged, but I'm a Lady now. Lady of the castle, to be exact. I'm pretty sure if I was technically the Lady of the castle I would have to be married to Murtagh, but I don't care. Lady Liaden sounds really awesome.

Murtagh sighed, his lips pulling back into a very sloppy looking frown, "Alright, I'll try. You keep memories from your dragon like you keep memories from everyone else who is in your mind, or like you'd keep people out of your mind in general. You build a wall around your mind, and you make it sound. No cracks, no missing pieces. Reach out for my mind."

And… he lost me before he started. "Huh?"

"Reach out for my mind – extend your mind's consciousness towards me; try and read my mind." Does anyone else get the feeling I should put a few fingers to my temples and hum obnoxiously so he actually thinks I'm trying? "Close your eyes and envision reaching out towards me, only don't move."

I closed my eyes, carefully picturing my hand moving forward. It moved forward slowly, mostly because the further forward it moved the more I felt my consciousness expanding. I heard Murtagh telling me something about being able to focus the consciousness, but I wasn't actually listening to him. I was… caught up. I could hear everything around me in that ring of consciousness that my mind had created. Sure, there wasn't a lot to hear, but I could hear what little there was.

And then, just as I was about to reach Murtagh, I hit a brick wall. I flinched, shrinking away from the nearly-burning contact, but then pushed forwards, trying to figure out what happened to Murtagh. I could reach anything passed him, but his entire being was protected by what felt like an actual, physical wall. Only… in my head. "That's what I mean by build a wall around yourself. The only thing you really need to do is concentrate on building a strong, solid wall of defense around you. Now pick a memory you want to keep private – a real memory you want to keep private. It helps you to actually want to do the exercise. Desperation will make any student work harder."

Psh, like I was going to fall for that one. And then when I fail, which I'm expecting to happen, and he's able to see the memory, he gets to know something about me that I don't want him to know, and before you know it he finds out that Philayork is actually two cities from one different world. "How do I know that when I'm protecting that memory you won't try and go through all my others?"

"I would never take advantage of someone's mind when I'm teaching them," Murtagh's voice was firm, and angry. It, like his brick wall, made me physically flinch, and I sucked in a breath. Who knew Murtagh would be so defensive about his teaching moral code? Teaching is usually one of the few times he can still force himself to force expressions he thinks he should be feeling on. At least, that's what he does when I'm not prying. "Now, close your eyes and build that wall. I'll come slowly, so you can feel what it's like to have someone's mind approach you."

I closed my eyes, my legs crossing pretzel-style and my hand falling to my knees in the stereotypical meditation-style of sitting. I quickly chose something that I didn't think was important but I'd still he rather not know – my last arguement with Garret – and built a wall around the memory as best I could without, you know, physical labor.

True to his word, Murtagh approached my mind slowly, and I could feel every agonizing move his mind made towards mine. Panicking would've been an option, if I was protecting a memory truly worth protecting. Instead I just focused on the wall, concentrating so hard that my fingers were shaking.

Once Murtagh was in my mind, he made fast work of quickly sensing the wall and breaking through it. Like a dam had burst in my head, my last conversation with Garret flashed before my eyes. The argument – oh god, the argument. I forgot how truly bad it was until I had to watch it all over, from my point of view, knowing that Murtagh was watching this same movie flash before him. How embarrassing.

"What…" My eyes flashed open, only to see Murtagh's own eyes closed and his face contorted with confusion as the memory continued to play out before his eyes, "Wha… What is this?" He shook his head as the memory faded in his mind, "Who…" I never realized that me having an argument was so… confusing.

"He's an ex… suitor." Yeah, that's about right. In old-time speak. Simplified.

"Well, I wonder why he never proposed," came Murtagh's biting remark. I immediately felt inexplicably defensive – he didn't actually know the whole story behind Garret and I. "What kind of family do you come from? Or maybe you don't really want suitors."

"Shut up," was what came out first. Really, if he talked less I could have more time to think and be witty. "There were… mitigating social circumstances." He doesn't need to know what kind of circumstances.

"Circumstances by the name of the Lady Jen?"

"She is not a lady!" Oops. "I mean, no. There was no…" Ooh, we might have said her name in that argument. That's… actually pretty likely. "She's his…" Alright, nothing I can say is going to explain this. "You don't get to know! You didn't unlock that memory!" I hope that actually works.

"Would you like me to search for it?"

"NO!" … What? That sounded like he might be serious. He… very well could be serious. I refuse to doubt that he's serious!

"I wasn't serious." Of course he wasn't. I'm just a little paranoid is all. Leave me alone. "I made you a promise, Lady Liaden. I do not break my promises."

The sudden intensity in Murtagh's eyes drew the breath from my body, and I spent a few seconds sputtering desperately to get it back. I felt my hands start to tremble, and quickly shoved them behind my back. The colors in his eyes started to swirl as my vision blurred, and I recognized the lack of… actual bodily functions as something much, much worse than a virus or bacteria.

* * *

_We're going,_ the thought was desperate as I rushed into the stable. Emerson's head jerked upwards as he woke. I carried a saddle awkwardly under one arm and the one outfit the tailor has finished in the other. I'm not bothering with food – Emerson hunts. He hunts, right? He'll learn – I'll learn, if I have to. _Get up. Right now._ I spent three hours lying up trying to convince myself that I didn't see what I saw, and then I realized the watch was changing. Now's the time.

_Hmm? Child?_ Emerson's thoughts were vague and weak as he stumbled to his feet. I shoved the saddle onto him before realizing that I put it on backwards. I switched it back around as Emerson's thoughts slowly morphed into articulated words. _Why are we leaving just now?_

_The guard watch is changing – now or never._ I would've thought he'd be ecstatic.

_Or… any other day; I thought we were staying to learn about our powers._ Oh, no. No, that was never agreed on. He cannot make that decision for the both of us! **I never agreed to that!**

_No! Now – we're leaving. The rebels are… around. We'll find them if we fly in enough circles._ I rushed to the other side of Emerson and tugged on his girth until he coughed. That… should be tight enough. I'm not quite sure about the rule-of-thumb with dragon saddles.

"It's rather early for a ride, isn't it Lady Liaden?"I froze at the sound of his voice, quite thankful that Emerson blocked him from my view. If I saw him, there might be awkward babbling. "So dark I doubt you'd be able to see, so much for staying awake." His voice was retaining the eerie, morbid, dead tone that he used when, well… when he makes facial expressions that don't reach his eyes. Those times. I hate those times.

_Maybe that makes it safe to look at him. I can retain in control. He's not Garret._ I ducked under Emerson's neck, which was very slowly falling towards the ground. The dragon waited as long as it took for me to get to the other side before collapsing back into a deep slumber. _Some help he is._

Looking at Murtagh was… hard. Because even though the emotion Murtagh was attempting to express wasn't reaching his eyes, his eyes were still… expressive. He was disappointed in me; he knew exactly what I was doing, and it hurt him. It actually hurt him.

"I'm sorry." I'm not really, but how much does he fake with me? I'm allowed to do this – especially if it has a chance of helping him to feel better. "How… how did you know?" For future reference, of course. My eyes fell to Emerson's straw bedding, and I decided multi-tasking would be the best choice if I want to avoid giving something away – listen to Murtagh and make pictures out of the straw.

"I know you're not sorry." My eyes shot up to him – thoughts were one things, but emotions? How does that happen so easily with him and me? Murtagh, of course, sensed my question immediately, and answered it, his face slowly fogging over with disbelieving amazement, "The presence of your mind is so… loud. I can barely ignore it when you're in the same room." As an after thought, he added, "You woke up Thorn; don't be so loud on your next escape attempt."

Murtagh turned on his heel to leave – either he trusted me to not try and leave tonight or he was alright with letting me leave. Or there's a third option, I just can't think of it. Maybe it's a mix – that's not important. The moment he left, a cold wind blew through the stable. I shivered, and Emerson reached his nose towards me in his half-delirious state. Slowly, he wrapped his neck around my stomach and slowly tugged me backwards into his heat.

But I just… watched the door. I really didn't know how to respond. He looked so… hurt.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Murtagh blew out a careful breath as he stood next to Thorn in a large, cavernous throne room, awaiting their 'merciful King.' _What are you going to tell him?_ Murtagh drew in another breath, his eyes shooting around for any visible signs of their king. None, of course; Galbatorix would keep Murtagh waiting as long as he felt appropriate, and when the King appeared there would be forewarning.

Today, a week after Lady Liaden's training had started, was the first official report of progress. Galbatorix wanted a full briefing on what was going on with the new dragon and dragon Rider. Of course, Liaden had managed to distract Murtagh during every lesson they'd had this week, and Murtagh wasn't sure what he should tell Galbatorix – what would be the normal pace of a dragon Rider who was completely new to everything? Was it even plausible for her to be new at everything? Murtagh believed her, but Galbatorix would be a completely different story.

Carefully, Murtagh tensed his legs for a few seconds and was about to respond to Thorn's question when Galbatorix appeared from behind the throne, Shruikan lumbering in after him. The dragon's eyes, which almost glowed with a white-hot fire from the way his heart and mind had been twisted, locked with Thorn's, but Thorn submissively broke the connection and bowed, his nose brushing against the floor.

Murtagh fell to his knees, his neck muscles relaxing, ironically enough. "What is the status of your training, Murtagh?"

The younger rider racked his brain for something that would make sense, or was at least the tiniest bit honest, "The Rider's progress is insufficient; I wish to leave my report at that and depart as soon as possible so that I might continue with her training so that I might return and… catch her up." Murtagh flinched at the way he'd worded the last bit of his speech – Liaden's influence, no doubt.

"Insufficient." Falling casually into his throne, Murtagh noticed the shine of Galbatorix's knife as he pulled it out and started to toy with it. Murtagh took a deep breath before letting his head fall back down.

"Yes, sire."

Galbatorix nodded, "Look at me, Raynor." Murtagh couldn't fight the magical pull against his body, and he looked straight into Galbatorix's black, wide eyes. With a gasp of breath, Murtagh watched as Galbatorix threw his knife towards them, his eyes squeezing shut in pain as the knife embedded itself in his thigh. He could feel the blood start to trickle down to his knee, but was more horrified at the fact that Shruikan sprang into action at the bidding of his master, pouncing onto Thorn's back and ripping at his back.

The king was on them before Murtagh could apologize for the progress again, and he kicked upwards into Murtagh's jaw. Flying backwards onto his feet, Murtagh fought every bone in his body that told him to fight back. He couldn't – it wasn't his place. It would never be his place.

Thorn screamed helplessly as Shruikan bit into whatever he thought would be most painful, and Murtagh's eyes shut as Galbatorix sauntered over him. "I am going to attack the Varden in three months time. Jierda." Galbatorix said the words simply, as if it were a mundane part of the conversation to utter words that sent Murtagh flying into the wall. The king followed him, drawing his sword and pressing the blunt end into Murtagh's stomach to force the air out. Murtagh coughed, his body pained at the action, as Galbatorix continued. "And when I attack, I want two dragons fighting for me, not just one. So I suggest your training becomes increasingly sufficient."

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I sucked at my teeth as I thumbed through the book, trying to pretend I was actually reading it as I waited for Murtagh to come back from his meeting with the King. I'm exceedingly curious about this dynasty that I'm going to pretend to be fighting for. Maybe somehow Emerson is wrong – maybe the king is good. Maybe **Murtagh** is good. Maybe this whole thing won't just be a test of my emotional and moral being.

With a slight tremor of the ground, I knew that Thorn had come back, and I burst out of my room and hurried towards the hallway, gasping at what I saw. Thorn was glittering in the sunlight, looking quire beautiful, but also quite alarming because Murtagh was passed out on his back. Urgals swarmed him, pulling him off Thorn and throwing him to one another. It looked like a sick game, but their shouts told me they were just confused.

"Thorn," I called to the dragon, bursting onto the balcony and memories of the first time I'd been here playing through my mind. Thorn caught on to what I was doing and lifted his wing to the railing, which I happily jumped over. I had to get down there, to help him – anything was better than the confused rag-doll way the Urgals were treating him. "Stop it, stop it!"

_I know the spell to heal him._ I was shocked for a moment as my feet hit the ground, Thorn's voice filling my head. His voice was… deep, like Emerson's, but also it had the musical quality that Murtagh's laugh had when he wasn't trying to hold everything in.

"How did this happen?" So what if it's the first time Thorn spoke to me? Murtagh is still almost dead.

_Our king was… disappointed. Murtagh healed my wounds and then fainted trying to heal his own._ Thorn moved stiffly, and I slapped an Urgal on the arm to get his attention.

"Stop! Cease and desist! Take him to his room!" God, these Urgals have no brain. The guard stared at me for a few seconds before shouting out the order in his native tongue, and one guard emerged from the fray with Murtagh slung carelessly over his shoulder. I nearly fainted, but hurried after the Urgal. Thorns voice rang clearly in my head as he instructed me what to do.

_It's powerful, but concentrate on Murtagh. Imagine his wounds healing, touch them to help transfer the magic, and say '__Waíse heill.'_ I gulped, suddenly wishing Murtagh was here to teach me this. Murtagh is actually a very good teacher, when he's not being grumpy. I repeated the words to myself as I sat on the edge of Murtagh's bed, uncertainly putting my hand against a wound in his thigh.

"W… Waíse heill." The words sounded strange coming out of my mouth, but the magic obeyed my shaky command and flowed through my fingers and into Murtagh's wound, burning and draining me. I gulped at the sensation, wanting to pull away but also wanting desperately to heal my teacher. I sighed as the magic faded, a scar being all that was left, _Alright – what else can I do?_

* * *

_There's no point in running 'less you run with me  
__It's half the distance through the open before you cut me down  
__So let me introduce you to the end  
__And I feel a cold wind blowing beneath my wings  
__It always leads me back to suffering  
__Time will soar until the wind whips me down  
__Leaves me beaten on unholy ground again  
__So tired now of paying my dues – I start out strong but then I always lose_

Shackled by Vertical Horizon


	10. Temptuous Rage

This one gave me such trouble, because everyone is changing and realizing and everything; this is the only one I'd even started before this week. But I think I got it.

More importantly, this chapter is only five and a half hours late. And, since I couldnt' update for the passed two weeks, I've put up the preview for an awesome video I'm doing about ALL THREE of my stories. It's under the title 'Savin Me,' so just search 'savin me lovincopperpot' and it'll come up. Hope you like it.

* * *

Murtagh awoke to an annoying, off-beat song filling the room. He sniffed, flexing his back carefully to test his muscles while simultaneously reaching with his mind toward Thorn, _Thorn?_ Murtagh found a contented mind waiting for him, _Thorn, what happened? Are you alright?_

He could feel Thorn's response before Thorn had bothered to think it, and so Thorn instead chose a more… interesting thing to say, _Liaden healed you._ Murtagh froze as Thorn quickly flashed the memory of homecoming for Murtagh to see.

Instead of questioning Thorn, Murtagh shot up in bed, his eyes opening to meet one of his guard's, and immediately the infernal humming ceased, "The Lady Liaden healed me?" The guard froze, but then nodded, as if too horrified by being caught humming to speakBut Murtagh had better things to worry about than what his guard had been pulled at his shirt for a few frenzied seconds before remembering that Galbatorix had stabbed him in the thigh. Too involved in himself to care about the guard and whatever impression he may be making, Murtagh pulled at his pants, searching his thigh before his heart stopped. A scar.

_Calm, Murtagh; she'd never even floated a pebble but she somehow figured out how to heal you. I think you should be more thankful than worried about a scar._ Murtagh growled in a strange, animalistic way as he pulled his pants up, simultaneously hopping out of bed.

"Where is the Lady Liaden?"

"She promised to return in fifteen minutes time."

"Huh?" Murtagh was less surprised to hear the guard speaking English as he was to hear the she was… on her way.

_She's been worried about you, idiot,_ Thorn's laughter filled his head. _She hasn't left your side before now; she left to get some food for herself. I can tell her you're awake. I'm sure she'll be glad to hear it._

Murtagh shook his head, ignoring the fact that Thorn couldn't see the gesture as he huffed passed the guard and down the hall, trying to decide if Liaden would be waiting for her food in the Dining Hall or if she was strange enough to insist upon making something for herself. Either way she would be in the same corner of the castle, but he'd rather get to her sooner. He wasn't even sure what he was mad at her about – she'd healed him, and allegedly sat at his bedside.

Upon hearing her singing words to the tune that the guard had been humming, and realizing that no one had ever sat by his bedside before, Murtagh froze. She'd… sat by his bedside. She was… what was she waiting for? To see if he got worse? To comfort him in case he woke up? He could hear her, singing some strange song in the kitchen, clacking around and distracting him. Had she… **actually** been worried?

* * *

"It's a love story – baby just say ye-" My voice gave out as I finished pushing the door open with my rear end, leaving a very disgruntled cook behind and, instead, running into a very confused looking Murtagh. I almost dropped my sandwich, but freezing seemed the better option. For a moment I stood there, kitchen door propped open with my body, my mouth gaping like a fish. I mean, I didn't think he'd die while I was gone or anything, but I also didn't plan on his waking up and… being hungry.

Despite whatever instinct I had that told me to not rejoice a little, probably instinct based on the little bit of Emerson that was always with me, I threw my food and drink haphazardly onto the table and scooted up and into Murtagh's limp arms, the hug very much reflecting the one we'd attempted to share when the Urgals had beaten Emerson last week. Only this time when I lost my balance I gave up on hugging him and instead fell back onto my feet.

"You must be starving," I feel like a mother goose, "Please, sit down, eat; I can make myself another sandwich in no time." Now that I don't have to get into a fight with the cook about letting me make my own food. He wanted to roast an entire turkey for me! Does that scream 'ridiculous overkill' to anyone else? Because all I see there is the urge to compensate for something.

I'm such a girl.

A few minutes later and I walked back out of the kitchen, fresh sandwich in hand, to find that Murtagh had all of sat down at the table. "You know, of all the things I figured would be weird for you, I never thought eating would be one of them." I'm chipper today, too. Maybe it's because I actually did magic. That's pretty exciting.

"How long was I out?" Murtagh neck snapped to look at me, as if I'd woke him up in the middle of class and he was asking what he'd missed. Some first words to say after I heal you like magic. Oh, wait, it was magic.

"Just for the day," I responded, trying to ignore his… distance. Not physical distance – he's not very touchy feely and I've accepted that, kind of. No, he seems very… mentally distant. Like he's not thinking about what he's doing right now. It's actually kind of interesting; I could probably get a real emotion out of him very easily right now. If I tried, that is. But I think I'll just be happy with the fact that he's awake and alright and his leg still works.

"Did we miss a training session?" I could tell he was looking at me for my response, so I just nodded instead of telling him. Why was missing a training session important? Upon my nodding, there was a loud bang and my sandwich, which I'd taken all of one bite of, shook against its plate. I nearly choked with shock before looking up, my eyebrows reconfiguring to communicate my confusion. "I'd…" Murtagh trailed off. "I'd just… rather not miss a day." He met my gaze awkwardly before looking down at his still untouched sandwich. Obviously looking for something to do, he reached forward and took a large bite of it. He **very** obviously didn't know how to react. "This is… different."

I snorted; ham and cheese – how novel. "Yeah, hometown recipe." More like home-world, but I think bothering with the specifics will just get me into trouble.

"Your hometown of New York?" Again, I started to choke, my eyes shooting up at him and my mind racing. When the hell did I tell him where I was from? Hold on, hold on, I have to be calm; he might be making something up. It's not that hard to come up with the word 'new' for heaven's sake. I reached out desperately for Emerson, but I was too panicked to make a real connection.

_He read my mind!_ That thought being the only certain explanation I had, I of course jumped headfirst into the accusation, "I can't believe you read my mind!" And, based on the fact that his face very quickly got very red, I'm thinking that I should stop. "I mean, some Lord of a castle you are – what a horrible thing to do to someone! You promised me-" Thinking doesn't necessarily equal doing.

"I did not break my word, Lady Liaden," Murtagh's voice retained that steel-quality that always made me shiver from the sheer lack of emotion, "My encounter with our King reminded me of the facts you imparted to me upon our first meeting." Murtagh looked momentarily smug, but the expression immediately fell away as he took another, smaller bite of the sandwich, "I honestly can't believe I forgot."

"I honestly can't believe **I** forgot." Murtagh snorted into the drink, shaking his head. Really, though, I put myself through a lot of embarrassment, trying to make believe I was from Philayork. That's just a weird-sounding name. Not to mention I sounded like a complete idiot. Philayork my ass. I ran my tongue carefully over my teeth, considering what this meant for me and Emerson; how much can Murtagh know before we just tell him everything?

"So, would you care to tell me about this… New York?" Feeling awkward about the whole subject, I glanced down at my sandwich before looking back up at Murtagh. His eyebrow was raised carefully, arching in a challenging fashion that was complimented nicely by the small smirk on his lips. I gulped, concentrating on keeping my jaw from dropping in shock at the real expression, which was offered willingly.

_EMERSON!_ Nope, I'm still not calm enough; I'm so on my own it's literally sickening. "It's a, uh…" What's believable? "Um..." Maybe 'it's an um' actually means something. Like, in the Urgal's language. Maybe I can convince Murtagh I'm a genius and I've learned Urgal-ese in the day that he's been knocked out. "Yeah; an um." Oh… I'm just an idiot. That's worse than Philayork.

Murtagh snorted again, "You do realize that I can find it now, right? You mine as well just tell me; I'm only asking to be polite." My brow furrowed, and I felt angry; he was almost treating me like a child, but I was also on edge because something seemed… off. Like he thought he was suddenly all high and mighty because he knew where I'd lived before now. And that's just… not him.

_He doesn't even have a clue._ I slammed down the goblet, which I'd picked up to take a drink from, and stood in what was supposed to be a threatening manner. I mean, I don't think I can actually threaten Murtagh, but I hope the thought crosses his mind. "Try as hard as you want to find it." I paused, trying to think of something **better** to say. "Polite my ass – you need to know where I came from so you can try and figure me out." And… turn and storm. Don't bother with the sandwich – there's more ham in that kitchen than you could ever hope to make into sandwiches. Come back later, it'll be an excuse to eat more. _EMERSON!!_

* * *

"You know, I don't quite understand how you can manage to heal a stab wound in my leg, but you can't make a pebble float." I wanted nothing more than to jump into Murtagh's lap and claw at his eyes until he was blind, I was so frustrated and annoyed with him. So much for floating this god damned pebble. "Really, it's very backwards."

"Oh, shut up; can we practice something else?" We haven't even done swordplay! I **hate** pebbles!

"No; not until you float this thing. It's easy – stenr reisa. We don't have this kind of time to waste!" Why didn't I run away when I had the chance? The Urgals trust me a bit more now, and Murtagh was OUT! I could be gone and not floating pebbles. "Concentrate."

"I am concentrating!" I thundered at him, running my tongue across my teeth quickly before deciding instead to dig my nails into my palms. That way I didn't risk biting my tongue, which could be a problem.

"Oh, really? You're trying as hard as you can to make this pebble float?" I nodded, feeling very defiant and empowered. Murtagh's eyes hardened, but it was hard to make out his face in the shadows. I could tell, though, that he was genuinely angry, "Because if you had been trying I'd suspect you would've at some point said the words."

… Oh. I could feel my face, which I'd been using to glare at him, fell into slight shock. Alright, so I wasn't trying as hard as I could have. I… should probably get Emerson over here. _Emerson? Can you come help me out?_

_You'll have to learn to deal with your teacher on your own, my child; I'm preoccupied._ And that was that – Emerson is only just healed; I wasn't going to risk him getting hurt because I was caught in a fib. It's not even a real fib – I was concentrating, I just didn't know what I was doing, and Murtagh didn't walk me through it like Thorn had. He's just a horrible teacher. More importantly, I can't talk to Emerson anymore because he blocked the connection. How does he do it so well?

"Well maybe I was… trying to make it harder. You know, not say it. More interesting, more impressive, mo-"

"More dangerous," Murtagh growled, and I was taken off guard to the point that I fell back onto my palms. I was about to question Murtagh about what he meant, but he broke into a very strained lecture, "Magic was bound to the ancient language by the Grey Folk because before that magic was hazardous and dangerous. A stray thought or a wrong look caused immeasurable havoc and destruction. If you thought about Emerson while you trying to float the pebble you could very well have started to throw him about in the air and hurt him, or hurt yourself with the struggle to control the magic."

"Oh, like you'd care." The words spouted out of my mouth easily; I'm honestly not sure that, despite the fact that I actually care the tiniest bit about him, if he cares even a little about me. He has that cold, angry demeanor that is so rare, and yet forces me to believe that he honestly doesn't think about anyone's wellbeing passed his own and Thorn's.

Murtagh's face hardened, but somehow retained its emotion, "Don't say that; you don't know me." His eyes narrowed, and I sucked in a breath quickly before leaning forward, determined to forget what I saw. After all, he didn't actually say he cared; no one likes to hear that their a selfish jerk, and that's what he was protesting. I can ignore that what he just said exactly reflects what I thought this morning.

My eyes narrowed, and I felt the magic tingle in my blood, "Stenr reisa." In the bluish moonlight, I could feel my fingertips burn and could make out a greenish glow that shone on Murtagh's face and floated in a cloud towards the pebble. He smiled as the pebble lifted a few inches out of his palm before it fell back into his hands. His smile was almost contagious as he looked down at the dissipating cloud of green, then up at me, then back down.

* * *

The dragon was staring at me intently, his eyes glimmering in the torchlight; at least, I think it was his eyes. He's covered in blood, and the blood is glimmering too. But I think it's his eyes I'm looking at; I hope it's his eyes that I'm looking at. If it isn't, then I'm going to be sick. Because that's the blood of my soldiers, of my dragon.

A movement to the dragon's side caught my eye, and I gulped; even if this was a dream, and I knew it was a dream, it didn't meant that what I was about to see would hurt any less. If anything, it made it worse; somehow, what I saw could be twisted by somebody into something I wanted to see, something that gave me a strange pleasure. But it didn't – it make me want to crash into the floor and die. It was the exact opposite of anything I could ever want to see.

Emerson struggled, in spite of the fact that his death was already certain. His spine had been severed – he was beyond my healing, beyond my experience. _Hold on, just beyond mine; where's Murtagh, he can do it._ "Murtagh!" I backed away from the dragon, whose eyes were still trained on me, as I reach for my sword. Lord knows why I didn't have it out before.

And then, in a streak of dark armor, Murtagh had jumped onto the dragon's neck, stabbing at it desperately. _No,_ I wanted to scream at him, _No, you need to save Emerson!_ "Murtagh!"

* * *

Someone was shaking me, but I felt myself fighting them, fighting to get by them. He was in danger, "Murtagh, MURTAGH!"

"I'm here, Liaden," his deep voice soothed me, and in that moment of relaxation I remembered that it was all a dream. A silly little dream that means absolutely nothing.

I took a deep breath, which hitched when I realized that Murtagh was absolutely wrapped around me, making it painfully obvious that I'd been fighting violently. Violent to the point that he'd had to restrain me. Alright, so maybe this dream is more than just a silly little dream. Maybe it's something that, on whatever deeper level, is actually affecting me. I mean, probably not, but maybe.

For a second, Murtagh pressed his hands into my lower back, forcing me further into his body than I'd been able to manage in my sad attempts at hugging him. My breathing hitched again, and I carefully wrapped my arms around him and buried my face into his shoulder, "I'm here, Liaden; I'm right here." His voice was unnecessarily deep and calm.

I nodded into his shoulder, only realizing that I'd been crying when I felt the tears smudge on his tunic. Oh, great. Now he probably won't believe me if I say that it was nothing. He'll probably still leave me alone, but he won't believe me, and that's just annoying. Then again, my cuddling into him is also sending all the wrong signals. But Murtagh is… nice to cuddle. Warm and slightly rock-like, but he gives at the right moments, if any of that made any sense.

One of his hands tentatively raised to stroke my hair, and in that second whatever desperate spell that had been cast when I started dreaming was broken. Murtagh pushed me away, jumping out of my bed and turning to storm out of the room.

_Well, that was… abrupt._ I swallowed awkwardly passed the small lump in my throat, sniffing and glaring at the door. I mean, what was that? He storms in, saves me from my nightmare, and then realizes that comforting me might actually mean that he cares a little? I would never assume that about him. I mean, he definitely has feelings, but that doesn't mean he cares. Not passed himself and Thorn.

I sniffed once more, and then Murtagh quickly stepped halfway back through the door. "Uh, breakfast in a half an hour, and then I cleared the day for flying lessons, so…" He trailed off, nodding through the rest of his mumblings and bowing out of the door.

* * *

"So, what would you like to work on tonight?" Murtagh fell back onto his hands, yawning silently as he looked out over the sparkling lake. After a full day of Riding-training, which was actually a lot of fun but also physically exhausting, Murtagh still insisted that we have one of our nightly sessions, even if all I want to do is go and collapse into my oversized bed and sleep. Or at least close my eyes – sleep may possibly lead to the nightmare again.

On the other hand, I'm angry, which tends to wake me up. I don't even know why I'm angry, but I know I'm angry at Murtagh. I mean, the whole day and I couldn't get one real emotion out of him. Maybe angry isn't the word – frustrated and annoyed. Yeah, that's more descript – frustrated, annoyed, and confused. I just don't understand how he cannot only not just show his real emotions, but not any emotion. How can a human being resemble a brick wall so… perfectly?

"I want to work on breaking into people's minds." My smirk was triumphant, but I wasn't quite sure why. I've felt Murtagh's mind – it's painfully closed off.

Murtagh's laugh was fake and halting, like it'd been all day. It made me feel small, like he was looking down on me. Hell, he probably was looking down on me. "Maybe you should work on a strong defense before you attempt the offensive." Alright, so he's definitely looking down on me. And I don't appreciate it in the least. So what, he's lived in this world his entire life and is way better at everything to do with Riding than I am; we're still both people!

Of course, that didn't mean I was a person who could think of any logic to back up what he'd suggested. I scoffed, "Whatever." Without bothering to listen to Murtagh's instructions, I decided to create a memory instead of protect a real one; a vivid daydream of me beating Murtagh to a bloody pulp. My eyes closed and it didn't take long for Murtagh's mind to start its slow crawl towards mine.

Just before he reached me, it occurred to me that I should probably try and protect a memory that I, well, actually wanted to keep from Murtagh, but it was too late. I cringed as Murtagh neatly stole the memory, and carefully opened my eyes to Murtagh's amazed, non-robotic smile. He shook his head as the image flashed through his mind for a few seconds, "Did I do something to anger you, my Lady?"

I swallowed passed the attraction that I felt for him, which peaked whenever he called me his 'Lady,' and glared, "If I did, that would not be the way to ask." I wonder how many other ways I can convince him to ask before I get bored and make up something. Because I'm not going to actually tell him that I want him to show emotion. Whatever emotion he would show would feel cheap, pre-bought. Not to mention he would probably make so much fun of me.

"Well, how else would you prefer me to ask? Fall down to the ground and start to wail because you want me dead a little?" That's actually really close. Maybe he picks up more than he lets on when he 'doesn't' explore my mind. "Seems to me that you should have more important things on your mind, and another man to be mad at."

I scoffed, amazed and insulted that he would bring such a topic up, "Shut up right now; you don't know Garret, and you don't know what went on between us." It's true, he doesn't. He's seen one or two memories where Garret and I were fighting; fighting does not reflect who he is in reality. Besides, at least he has a personality.

"I have a pretty good idea," Murtagh glared, only showing a hint of emotion. Only a hint, though. "He a smooth talker, pretty eyes, popular, never seriously courted a girl?"

"Garret has seriously courted a girl, thank you very much."

"Not you, though." Murtagh's eyes were hard, unforgiving; he knew he was right, and he knew it hurt… but I honestly don't think he cared.

That, combined with his unintentional reminder that I'm a horrible person and a cheater, turned the frustrated confusion into actual anger, and I nearly screamed the first thing that came to mind, "How the hell do you do it?"

Murtagh's brow furrowed, and with a sick jolt I realized what I'd just let slip. The last thing I want Murtagh to know what that I cared; I don't. At least, I don't want to, and it's easier to get over if it's unspoken. "What? How do I do what, Liaden?"

And I thought him calling me his lady was attractive. "How do you just sit there and not feel anything?" Well, I can't take that back. I can't even pretend that whatever he says, he just misinterpreted it. That's pretty straightforward.

The Rider across from me visibly deflated, but his voice was surprisingly strong, "I feel."

* * *

_But if I wanted silence, I would whisper and if I wanted loneliness, I would go  
__And if I wanted rejection, I'd audition and if I didn't love you, I would go  
__And why can't you just hold me? And how come it is so hard?  
__And do you like to see me broken? And why do I still care?_

Just Hold Me by Maria Mena


	11. Just A Little Sexual Tension

**Funfact: **I'd always imagined the green dragon as being named Emerson, and knew I'd heard the name before. The problem was that I couldn't place where and couldn't find it in any of the baby-name dictionaries. I finally resigned to the fact that I made the name up, and the next day my English teacher introduced us to Ralph Waldo Emerson.

_

* * *

You know, I really don't like the smell of you after you have your lessons with him._ I snorted, reminded of all the creepy, boring supernatural novels that had taken over my world. All the guys had that kind of power, and they all commented on the way their beloved smelled after spending the day with a friend who was a little too friendly, or whatever.

I ignored the implications of what that could possibly mean and leaned forward, pressing my ear against Emerson's neck, _Just beat him back tonight; I want to prove that we're better._ If Emerson could, I'm sure he would have rolled his eyes right about then, but instead he pulled his wings back and stretched his neck forward, as if that would actually help us to go faster. Then again, whatever he did worked because before I could count to three, Murtagh and Thorn had fallen away.

It felt nice, to actually not have to be thinking about him or seeing him. He and I have been spending way too much time together lately, and I'm going to attribute the random tightness of the throat and the in ornate amount of blushing to that fact. Because I know myself well enough to know that I still love Garrett. Yeah, I used the word love; love doesn't scare me. Love is nice; calming and peaceful once it's realized. Even if it was me loving Garrett and he was a total jerk. Still, momentary calm.

_Was there a fight tonight, child?_ I started to suck at my teeth; Lord knows why, but if there's one thing that Emerson taught me it was to not fight my instincts. I have no reason to be nervous or scared, and therefore no reason to be sucking at my teeth and running my tongue around my mouth like I'm training for the Olympics, or whatever.

I also felt hurt, but that feeling is negligible. Why be hurt? At least Murtagh admitted to having feelings. Sighing, and feeling very resigned, I quickly showed Emerson the memory, and followed it up with a claim I knew instantaneously to be false, _It's not a big deal, Emerson. It wasn't even a fight; it was an annoyance that… exploded._ Alright, wording could have been better.

The puff of smoke that was a direct result of Emerson's snort of amusement, which made me more and more nervous every time it grew, blew in my face, and I coughed as my dragon dipped below cloud cover and pulled his wings back against his body. I narrowed my eyes, trying to fight the tears that were forming completely because of the speed as Emerson finally thought out his response, _I sure hope your annoyance never explodes with me; we might not survive it._

_I'm not that mean when I'm angry,_ I protested as Emerson hit the ground with a painful jolt. Take-offs and flying he's great at; it's the landing without nearly throwing me off that gets him. He builds up too much speed in the dive, or something. Maybe he's just got bad brakes. Hell, no brakes would be a possibility.

By the time Murtagh landed, I was hidden safely in the stable with Emerson, bent on spending the night with him. I hadn't seen him all yesterday, and the castle just seems… boring. Besides, if I wake up to Murtagh saving me from y nightmare one more time, there will be hell to pay. And I'm not just talking about how I'm going to kill him and blame him for these damn nightmares.

_Have you been able to find out which way South would be?_ I shook my head, careful not to let the 'oh shit' feeling that was flowing through me actually transfer itself to Emerson. That may have been one errand I'd completely forgotten about, despite the fact that it was a crucial step towards freedom, which in turn is something I cherish. I wonder how I'd bring that into conversation.

_Not yet; I'm still trying to figure out how to do it._ There, not even a lie. I can sleep here guilt-free tonight. _I am learning a lot about him, though, which will help if we have to fight him._ Hmm, it occurs to me now that saying that might not have been the best idea I've ever had. Which is saying something – I have some bad ideas.

Emerson growled at the idea of my spending time with Murtagh, in spite of the fact that, if I had it my way, I would have left weeks ago. Like that night when I realized that I actually liked Murtagh, a fact which I still won't fully admit to… anyone. Including me. That thought didn't even just form; you're all crazy.

"Lady Liaden-" I jumped and spun, my body tensing at the familiar, deep voice of my teacher. My stomach squelched, and of all the words that could have gone running across my mind, all I could think of was the fact that he felt things. And not only did he feel things, but he was aware of those feelings; he didn't try to say that he was heartless or made of rock – he knew. He was also smirking, "I did not mean to frighten you, my lady-" *swoon* "-but I thought you might want to accompany me back to the castle."

"Why would I want your company?" That… could have been nicer. "I mean, um, I wanted to spend the night with Emerson. I feel like I've been… neglecting him." I gulped passed the nervousness in my throat, which was uncharacteristic for me, especially here, with Emerson, where I feel confident. I mean, I do have the protection of a rather large dragon.

Murtagh looked between me and a very tense, glaring Emerson, "As much as I understand the need to be near one's dragon-" Don't you dare, Murtagh. "-I can't allow you to sleep in the stables with him."

My world spun around a little as Emerson growled, reaching his front leg in front of me protectively, "Wh… But why not? I used to live in here, I'm not allowed to visit?"

"With all due respect, Liaden-" *massive swoon* "-You've tried to escape before, and I'm simply too concerned with your safety to allow you to try such a stunt again; the world beyond this castle is dangerous, whether or not you would've been safe in New York."

He's concerned with my safety. Did anyone else hear that? Did I just imagine something? Carefully, I pinched myself, and my heart skipped a beat at the pain I felt. Nope, I'm awake. Moreover, even though I'm angry at Murtagh, I don't think I'm going to fight him on this particular issue. After all, if it's for my safety… WHAT AM I DOING?! "You arrogant pig!" Better. "You can't keep me trapped in that castle just because I went a little crazy one night – I was going to come back!" See, now that's a lie.

Murtagh's lips thinned as his eyes narrowed simultaneously in suspicion, "Oh, really?" I nodded, once again gulping and very thankful for the dragon that was between us. "Well, even that may be the case, I'm afraid that I can't take my chances; the king would be very put out if he found out that I'd lost you."

I felt my eye widen at the idea of Murtagh once again in the hands of a displeased King. Who would even heal him, then? One of the Urgals? I shook my head inwardly, rejecting the idea as I stepped over Emerson's claw. His surprise was evident, and not just to me, but he was quiet as I let Murtagh lead me out of his stall.

I tried to ignore the fact that Murtagh's hand was firmly placed on the small of my back, which was for whatever reason a very sensitive area for me, as he pushed me towards the door of the stable. I froze, though, when just along the path a horse stuck its head out from one of the larger stalls, and my heart stopped a little. "Pappy." I glanced over my shoulder at Murtagh to see him smirking, looking almost proud, "You had him moved here?"

"His old stall was much too small." That's thoughtfulness again! First with the Lady in Waiting, and now with Pappy? I mean, does he want me to die gushing with excitement?

I rushed forward, careful not to scare Pappy; that was one thing Murtagh could never undo – the abuse he'd suffered at the hand of the Urgals. And I really want to blame Murtagh for that abuse, but I won't. I've seen how stupid the Urgals can be, or at least the Urgals charged with the protection of this castle.

I reached towards him with my mind so that he'd know it was me, but that was an afterthought. Luckily, he stayed where he was, and let me gently pet his long, wide nose. After a few seconds, he pushed forward against me and knocked me back a few steps, but I just laughed. I could see the Urgals, who were standing post at the door, stiffen, and I realized that they were fighting the urge to attack him. Good, they'd better. Emerson's just down the line and will eat them.

_Be careful child, _Emerson offered his parting words, but I ignored as I stepped forward again, this time scratching Pappy's forelock, not realizing how much I'd missed him until I had the time to offer him. This horse, in addition to Amy, was my rock in my world. He completely and totally understood next to nothing about my life or my problems, but somehow he knew when to cheer me up.

Nickering, Pappy pushed his nose forward again, sending me flying a few steps back and laughing loudly. At least, I was laughing loudly until I took one step too far back, right into Murtagh's chest. The position was painfully awkward, mostly because that lump in my throat grew, resulting in my ability to breathe dramatically decreasing. I huffed quietly for breath as I spun my neck, my eyes wide as they collided with Murtagh.

In an attempt to catch me, Murtagh had reached his arms forward and wrapped them around me, resulting in a very turned around hug, and upon catching my eyes he quickly mesmerized me. They were like… like a storm of black-brown-gray, and I almost felt a gravity pulling me towards him. In my head, I was desperately trying to remember why this shouldn't happen, but I wasn't succeeding.

_CHILD!_ Emerson, on the other hand, is very talented at succeeding. My head, which had barely moved forward, snapped backwards, resulting in my tumbling out of Murtagh's arms and landing on my feet a few steps away. Pappy was pawing at the ground, throwing his head up and down in excitement, obviously wanting to play more.

"Uh, uh, calm down, Pappy; shush, I have to go, no more playing." I took a few steps forward, carefully placing myself out of the way of Pappy's oversized head, and stood on tiptoe to place a kiss on his cheek. I heard someone, presumably Murtagh, snort, and I turned to glare at him as I fell back down onto my feet, "What?"

"I've never seen anyone kiss a horse before." His response was as simple as that – nothing about how he felt or the customary relationship between a horse and their owner. Instead of offering something of a bit more substance, Murtagh extended his arm towards the stable door, inviting me to go on with him silently.

Unsure of what else to do, I closed my eyes and tried to ignore the numerous warnings and scoldings and concentrated instead on listening to the sounds of Murtagh's footsteps they were fairly soft, but measured, like he was marching to the beat of a drum rather than walking down a hallway. When I heard the doors open, I opened my eyes with them rather than risk walking into the doorway, or an Urgal, by accident.

Instead of closing my eyes again once outside the stable, I decided to talk to Murtagh as a way of ignoring what Emerson was saying; I mean, his fears are completely gratuitous. I don't even know what he's talking about anymore; what happened back there was… my hormones. Yeah. Right.

"So," I sighed, "What do you… think about the weather?"

Murtagh's smirk almost glowed in the moonlight, "Can't you think of anything better than that, Liaden?"

See, now that sounds like a challenge, which is bad because when Murtagh challenges me I feel this natural urge to not think and do whatever comes to mind to prove him wrong. In this case, words that had the potential of being very bad tumbled out of my mouth before I could think of some way to stop them, "Why would you work for a King who is so obviously abusive?"

Murtagh's smirk fell, but he didn't bother to hide the pensive look from his face. Apparently, I actually asked a tough question. I actually feel a little proud. Murtagh and I were up a small, winding stair case and walking down the middle hallway of the castle, the one that overlooked the two courtyards, when he finally responded, "I've seen the rebel side, and I know what they plan to do, and so as horrible as King Galbatorix may seem based on my condition just a few days ago, I am confident that he'll be a better leader than any of the Varden."

"The Varden?" Sounds like vermin.

"That's what the rebels call themselves. The Varden."

"How did you get to know the King so well, though? How can you be so sure that he's the right person to lead the country?" At this point, we'd reached the end of the hallway, where we usually go our separate ways. Instead, though, Murtagh leaned his shoulder against the pillar marking the intersection on his side of the hallway, and I leaned my back against the same pillar on my side.

"My father was murdered when I was fairly young by one the leaders of the rebels. He'd been the King's first follower, and as his son I was entitled to a high position in the Kingdom; the King left me in peace until my eighteenth birthday, when he approached me about becoming a leader in his army. I agreed."

"But?" His story cannot be that simple.

Murtagh's smirk lacked any official glow this time, but it still seemed almost magical. Hell, it very well could be magical, I don't know. "I'll save the rest for another time, my Lady. We must both get to bed. I won't wake you for breakfast tomorrow; I think you'll need your sleep." Murtagh turned, but I felt too comfortable where I was, the dim torchlight throwing fun-looking, jagged shadows onto everything. He paused at his door, looking to see that I hadn't moved, "Are you alright, m'lady?"

The lump grew, but I managed to talk through it, "Yeah, I'm fine; just… not tired."

"Well, the reason you'll need your rest is because the tailor is coming; he wants you to try on more things. Apparently you haven't gotten nearly enough clothing yet." I rolled my eyes at Murtagh's attempt at sarcasm, not bothering with a response. He didn't walk into his room, though, but stood there, door half open, his eyes scrutinizing me, "Are you really not going to go to sleep?"

I shook my head, strangely serious about it, "Nah; I think I'm going to go sit on the balcony. It's a decent enough night, and these tights are warm enough." Murtagh's lips pursed and, hesitantly, he took a step towards me. His brow was etched in confusion, and more than ever I wished that I had a camera with me from my world; he was so beautiful in that moment, so perfect-looking. Like… like the stature of Mr. Darcy in Pride and Prejudice. Only alive and moving.

"Liaden, with all my respects, I'm not sure how comfortable I feel leaving you out here alone; please, just g-"

I shook my head, wrinkling my nose at the idea of having to go and sit in my room until I found the right moment to fall asleep. "I won't go and see Emerson, I promise. I just want to sit on the balcony and look at the stars. It's a clear night, you know? Perfect for stargazing." Ugh, could I sound and more girly and romantic? I might as well add about wishing on the stars and then twirl.

Murtagh looked at me for a second, obviously torn as he took a hesitant step towards me, "I… Maybe I should go out there with you. It can get dark out there and if you fall it'll be one messy clean-up for me in the morning."

I sucked in a breath as Murtagh took another step towards me, so that he was nearly back where he'd started at his pillar; honestly, the idea of stargazing with Murtagh seemed nice. But I'm not that naïve; eventually, we'll get into a fight and then the whole night will be ruined. "No, no, you need your rest more than I do; I'll be just fine, I promise."

Murtagh's lips pursed again, but this time he turned, walking with a strange confidence back to his room and only pausing at the door, "Goodnight, m'lady." Of course, he had to leave me with that lump in my throat that usually doesn't leave until he says something stupid.

Once Murtagh's door closed, it occurred to me that I could very well go to his study, find a map, and figure out which is South. But stargazing, which was my original intent, seemed a nicer, more relaxing alternative. Besides, if Murtagh does a random Liaden-search, I want to be able to prove to him that I'm trustworthy. Why? Because then I get more privileges, and then it's easier to get away.

Yeah, I'm sly like that.

Swallowing, I turned and forced myself to hurry towards the front balcony and, upon reaching it, glancing around to try and figure out my options. It was simply designed: a single table with a few chairs spread around and a dragon on each of the outer corners of the wide, just above waist-high stone fence. Carefully, distastefully, I eyed the table and chairs. Neither looked comfortable, which may have been the point.

Instead, I headed towards the fence, which had more than enough room for me to sit or lay down on it as I pleased. Stargazing is better laying down, though.

_I wish I brought a pillow,_ I thought in the moment between when my head hit the stone and when I fully realized how beautiful a night it truly was. Every star twinkled, and more importantly they twinkled different colors, like dragon's scales. The change in color was slight, as they were mostly white, but each one had a barely different tint. It was almost hard to choose which part of the sky to look at first.

Bored and interested to see what shapes I could make, a few minutes after I got out there I decided to start playing connect-the-stars. After what felt like about an hour, I'd only been successful and finding a very disproportionate stick-figure and a crab claw. The game, though tiring and a little boring, was enough to hold my attention and distract my thoughts from a certain dark-haired teacher who I'm not attracted to, even if I am.

See, in those first few minutes before I decided to play the game, I'd also made a decision; yes, I was attracted to Murtagh. Really, it was only logical to be attracted to him – he was the only thing around my age that wasn't blue for who knows how many miles. But, despite this very slightly physical attraction, I don't like Murtagh that much. Not even as a friend, really. He was too infuriating, too frustrating. I'd have to be masochistic to like him.

Hence I'm attracted to him, but not attracted to him at all. Simple logic.

Suddenly, in the distance, there was the beginnings of what could end up being a very loud roll of thunder. It seemed familiar, to the point that I should know what it was and how to react, but I couldn't place my finger on it. I knew it wasn't thunder, because after a few seconds it had only gotten louder and was continuing to grow. Thunder doesn't last that long.

I flinched as I sat up, a small speck of something smacking me on the nose. The thunder had very quickly become almost too loud to bear, but I realized what it was all too late. In the split second before it hit, I had enough time to hit the ground and brace myself by falling to my knees next to the fence. The wind blew me into the fence and, painfully, sand started to slap at my body.

I felt like an idiot, getting caught in a sand storm twice, even though this time shelter was all of ten feet away. But more importantly, I knew I had to get out of the sandstorm before it blew something into my skull, or found some other way to kill me. My eyes squinted shut, I started to head in what I thought was a straight line towards the door, but somehow ended up with me smacking right back into the wall.

_Well, that isn't going to work._ My next reaction was to open my mouth and scream for help, but when I opened my mouth I just felt more pain as a few grains of sand found their way in. Simultaneously, a few found their way into my nose and I tucked the bottom half of my face into my shirt. There was always Emerson, but I refused to call for him to help. He couldn't get to me without breaking the stable and being blown all over the place by this wind. And that could be dangerous in very obvious ways.

My eyes still squeezed shut, I tried to hear if the storm had gotten any quieter, which would hint at it coming to an end, but I was greeted by nothing more than an even louder bang. It hadn't even peaked yet. "LIADEN?!" His voice drew me , and I looked up to see him standing in the doorway, protected by the red, pulsating shield that had saved me from the Urgals on my first escape attempt.

My scream back for him was muffled by my shirt, but somehow he managed to hear me and find his was to me easily, engulfing me in the energy and pulling me up and into his chest. Now, this could almost be a real hug, if I thought he was doing it for affection and not to get me into the castle.

Which was why I was shocked when, instead of dragging me away, Murtagh held me to him, his face scrunched up as he concentrated on the shield. I would've poked him, if I could deal with the damage that would result. Alas, I couldn't, and so instead I resigned myself to rest my chin on his chest and watch his face change as the storm grew less and less intense.

When the storm had fallen away all together, Murtagh let the shield fall and, with it, let a breath nearly punch its way out of him he was so desperate for air. He ended up falling onto me a little, and I did my best to support and question him at the same time, "What were you, waiting up for me?"

Murtagh shook his head as he turned, letting me support him as far as the castle, "No, no, the sandstorm woke me up; I checked your room, but you weren't there, so I came out here to get you."

"Oh." He actually wants me to die gushing excitement. "Well… thanks."

* * *

_Coming down the world to know you  
__And angels fall without you there  
__And I go on as you get colder  
__Or are you someone's prayer?  
__You know the lies they always told you?  
__And the love you never knew?  
_…  
_I'll become what you became to me_

Black Balloon by the Goo Goo Dolls

Note: These lyrics are kind of for the next chapter too, but I decided to put them with this one for whatever reason.


	12. Favorite Kind of Style

**Disclaimer:** I do not hate gay people, I know all gay people are not stylists, etc. Understand that this is a character I created, and he is this way for a very specific reason. You don't understand now, but you will.

Other than that this chapter makes me really happy.

* * *

I yawned, my mouth stretching as I felt something gently shaking me awake. I tried to swat at it, but that didn't help, of course. Instead, it just laughed at me, "I told you, my Lady; you have to meet with the tailor today. I already let you sleep through breakfast."

The golf ball I had to swallow passed when he called me his lady nearly choked me, especially when I realized that he was in my room, waking me up. My voice, luckily, found its way out; albeit, I sounded very sleepy, but I am very sleepy, so that works out, "How are you always awake?" I yawned at the word 'awake,' stubbornly keeping my eyes closed to guard against all forms of light and beauty.

There was a slightly annoyed sigh, followed by my upper body being tugged towards one end of the bed. I started to flail in response, all too used to the rough treatment from my brothers. I felt my hands and feet come into contact with Murtagh's body multiple times, but in stereotypical Murtagh response he didn't seem to notice. A slap in the face was nothing when he'd probably fought battles the kind of battles that go on for days and days only to lose and have to get stabbed in the thigh by an abusive King.

I felt my body teetering on the edge of the bed, and screamed as gravity pulled me down towards the ground. My bed is fairly high off the ground; a fall could result in serious injury. Of course, I forgot in my semi-conscious state that Murtagh was right there, and of course pushed me that millimeter necessary back onto the bed so that I wouldn't fall. The push landed on my stomach, which was bare. Not because I sleep naked – because in the midst of our fighting my shirt had ridden up a little.

The touch burned, which immediately put a stop to my flailing. I… huh? What was that? Murtagh's hand pulled away, and he didn't seem affected. Was it… a spell? For the first time that morning, I opened my eyes to have look at him. I don't know what I expected – it's not like his face is very foretelling about his emotions without my prodding.

His back was already turned to me, and he seemed to be picking some things off the ground. As he straightened up and turned, I saw that they were my covers. His face was completely blank, and so I resorted to be verbally questioning him, "Did you just use a spell on me?"

Stereotypically, his face muscles didn't even contract an inch, "No, why?" He turned, then, heading for my doorway and obviously expecting that I would respond before he got there. Of course, I did.

"I don't know, I just thought I… felt something." I know I felt something, but he doesn't need to know what I know. Murtagh paused as he reached the doorway, his back to me as he spoke.

"The tailor will be here in a half an hour; I expect you to be in dressed before then." I groaned – he had to go and remind me that I've got responsibilities. I never not have responsibilities anymore; it's a real pain. Unperturbed at my protest, Murtagh left and closed the door behind him. Good; if he stayed he'd probably start to give me more things to remember. Like I'm in school, or something.

* * *

The tailor smacked his lips at me, "Too tight; try the next one." I never thought that this was how tailors worked. I thought they took measurements and sewed things. I rolled my eyes as I slid back behind the curtain, stripping the piece of cloth that was supposed to cover me. Really, this man shouldn't have a rack of things for me to try on; didn't he take my measurements when he first made me what I've been wearing? I pulled on the next piece of fabric shaped in the form of an hourglass and went back out. The man quickly shook his head at me, "Wrong color; you look too pale."

Apparently, when Murtagh said 'tailor,' he meant 'pain in the ass stylist.' Really, this guy has everything but the lisp. He couldn't be more stereotypical if he went home to a twenty year old named Raoul. Or a lot of cats…

As I was stuck behind the curtain, struggling into the tights that had been thrown at me over the curtain, I heard the door open and close. It registered that someone had come in, but it was still a shock to hear his deep voice fill the room, "How is the lady doing? Do you have something more fitting for her to wear, yet?"

"Such an odd request anymore, a woman fighter; yes, yes, she's coming along just fine. You alright back there?" I was surprised by the lack of 'darling,' but also at how nervous I was to walk out and let Murtagh see me. I could barely move, and at that moment the effort was just not worth it.

"Uh, yeah, this one fits! Make more this size!" It's true – this mini-dress thing with the belt around my middle fits perfectly; I'm completely at ease and covered.

"I need to see the color, come on out!" I hate tailors. Ironically, I've liked every other semi-effeminate man I've ever met, but I'm going to kill this tailor. I wonder if it'll be considered a hate crime; I wonder if they have such a thing as hate crimes. I'm not even sure he's gay, though.

I started to suck at my teeth, curling my tongue in an attempt to keep from accidently biting it. It only took a few steps before I was out of the safety of my curtains and surrounded by mirrors on two sides and Murtagh with the tailor on another. Murtagh's mouth twitched slightly when we made eye contact, but nothing else about his stature changed; he stood like a soldier at ease, shoulders back and his hands tucked into the small of his back.

A glance in the mirror made me cringe; it fit, alright, and the color was nice, but something about it mixed with the green tights and brown boots with matching belt felt… off. "Perfect," the tailor cried, rushing towards me and pulling at the skirt to see what length he liked it.

"Do you like it, my lady?" Am I that easy to read? Or did Murtagh slip into my mind and I didn't even notice? Either way, I shivered when he called me his lady. The tailor's eyes shot up to my face, his smirking lips making it very clear that he'd caught the tremble and knew what it was for.

Resisting the urge to kick him, I concentrated on my reflection, "I don't know. I feel like Peter Pan." That's it! All I need is a matching green cap with a red feather. And, you know, to lose about ten years and never grow up. A pirate to be my enemy would also be helpful. Alright, so maybe my life isn't so Peter Pan-like, but this outfit is.

"Peter Pan?"

"Nonsense," the tailor ignored Murtagh's questioning, the first thing I liked that the blasted tailor had done all day, "You look absolutely ravishing. If you were a turnip I would eat you." Alright, that's just weird. I guess now I have to respond to Murtagh, since I don't know what to say to being called a turnip."

"Peter Pan is a… bedtime story from New York. He's a boy who never grows up and runs around in almost exactly this." Murtagh's eyes then raked down my body, nearly physically throwing me off balance. I grew hot, a foreign blush rising to my cheeks.

"I like it; make her more like it."

"Of course; it's absolutely perfect," the tailor gushed, continuing to fold and unfold the skirt, experimenting with various pleats and lengths, "And it's the finest material, of course; durable and warm."

Murtagh's lips finally twisted upwards into a heart-wrenching smirk; I'm glad I'm in the one corner of the castle where Emerson doesn't bother to keep tabs on me because it's too far away. "Of course, of course; do you have the gowns I asked for?"

I gulped, my eyes flashing from Murtagh's smirk to his eyes, to be sure that he was serious, before I pulled my gaze away from that direction and forced myself to look at the tailor, "Gowns, what gowns?" Because Murtagh is serious, and gowns could be bad.

"As a lady of the court," Murtagh's smirk drew me in again as he started to purr at me in a deep, low voice, "You will eventually be expected to attend a few parties and become acquainted with the King. I simply can't keep you to myself forever." Oh… fuck I can't breathe. Hoping to be indescrete, I bent my back and started to pull at the threads that held the thing together in an attempt to loosen it. "A ball gown is the only appropriate thing for such occurances, Liaden." Just a bit more… "Is it tight, m'lady?"

I hadn't been able to tear my eyes from Murtagh's the entire time he'd been talking, and the sudden requirement of my voice presented the opportunity to make it clear that I'd lost the ability to speak. "I… um… uh…" I've just got to spit this out and get it over it. "No."

The tailor was at my strings before I could tell him that I wanted to go change, retightening them, "Any looser and it would've fallen off!" Oh, that's just what I need. Great.

As soon as my strings had been cinched tight again, the tailor hurried off to get his rack of dresses from who-knows-where-he'd-stored them. Still smirking, and still easily meeting my eye contact, Murtagh fell into the chair that the tailor had been using. His immediate attempt to make himself comfortable told me that he planned on staying.

"Are you going to stay and watch me try on the gowns?" Can't hurt to be sure.

"Oh, yes," his smirk slowly transfigured into a smile, which made me want to die a little, "I can't wait to see more dresses that make you look like a turnip." And then the smile, which was so slight it had barely been there, faded and Murtagh's eyes softened, the gray and the brown that made them up swirling and shining, "You really do look beautiful in that, eternally youthful boy or not."

"I think you should go." Seriously, though, how am I supposed to try things on and have an open mind when I know that Murtagh is out here, judging me, commenting on me, even if it doesn't fit or isn't flattering. It was hard enough letting him see me in something that actually fit, so much for a large ball gown that I probably won't be able to get into without two Urgals to help me.

Immediately, Murtagh's eyes darkened in response to my request. I could tell he wanted to ask why, and the way his veins were clearly defined in his arms made it obvious to me that he was holding back from physically reacting, or at least reaching into my brain to find out the truth. After a few seconds, he growled through his teeth, "Fine."

He stood, then, turning and storming out the door in the most dignified way I could've imagined. His dark, stormy eyes were burned into my memory, and he huffed passed a confused tailor. The tailor watched as Murtagh stormed down the hall, using his rack of dresses to hold the door open. I groaned – more clothing. I'm so sick of being a teenage girl.

"Was that the Lord of the Castle stomping out of here like a three year old?" I couldn't help but giggle, grateful for the humor to break my physical tension at having been so close to Murtagh when he seemed so relaxed. Shaking his head, the tailor pushed his rack fully into the room, most of the dresses getting caught on the doorway. Immediately, what was left of the relief fled from my body. Two full weekends of shopping for the perfect dress for my junior prom had left me with a certain disdain for dress shopping in its entirety.

"Which one do you want me to try on first?" The tailor wrinkled his nose at his rack before looking at what I was wearing. His hand shot out, like a snake attacking a mouse, and he when he pulled it back out he'd managed to pull a dress from the fray.

"This one should fit, and the colors have potential." I nodded, not caring at this point whether or not it fit or looked good. I could feel that Murtagh was mad at me; after however many weeks we'd spent together, I knew him well enough to know his anger. When I was stuck behind the curtain, only mostly dressed, the tailor started to question me, "So, are the two of you married, or did the King just stick you two together to save on land and building materials?"

"Uh, actually, Murtagh found me in the desert and took me in; the fact that I'm a dragon rider made me important enough to have my dragon and I invited into the court, and we didn't have much choice but to accept." That's more honestly than I usually offer up to Murtagh during any given week, so much for in one sitting. "I stay here because he's teaching me."

"I think he wants you here, even if he'll never admit it," the tailor offered as I stepped forward and out of the curtains. His nose wrinkled, "Yuck, lose the puffy sleeves. Who knows what fashion era my sister was thinking about when she sewed up this one." The tailor tugged at the sleeves, obviously dissatisfied that they weren't detachable. "He definitely wants you here."

The speed and ease with which the tailor was able to switch from talking about Murtagh's deepest inner workings to basic ball gown fashion caught me off guards. "Ho… How can you tell?"

"In all the times I've been here to fit anyone for anything – soldiers, Urgals, guests of his who need an emergency outfit – he's never once come down unless I was fitting him or he was paying me. I think he would've stayed, if you two hadn't gotten into a fight." A new dress in hand, the tailor easily ushered me back into the depths of the curtains.

"We didn't get into a fight – I asked him to leave and he got annoyed." When you say it aloud, it actually sounds a little ridiculous. I mean, I said please, didn't I? And even if I forgot my manners in that respect, I didn't say anything that should have offended him so… rapidly.

"Why did you ask him to leave?"

"Because he makes me nervous." God, this guy should be a shrink; talking to him is like talking to Emerson, only this guy isn't overprotective and green. "I… I don't know why, but he does and I didn't want to deal with that just now."

I couldn't see the tailor's facial expressions, but I could guess well enough based on his disbelieving tone, "You know why. Did you tell him that he makes you nervous?" I shook my head, completely forgetting the fact that the tailor couldn't see my gestures when I was hidden behind the curtain.

"Why would I?"

"Call it a hunch, but I think it's something that your Lord and mine would like to hear. If you open up to him, it's more likely that he'll tell you what's going on inside of him." Alright, I need to add mind-reader to this guy's list of talents. How did he know that the one thing I'm ever concentrating on with Murtagh is showing real emotions? I stepped forward once again from the curtains, greeted immediately by the tailor's disapproving tsks, "Maybe if we let out the skirt, a little…"

* * *

_You know that she had every right to ask you to leave, don't you? After all, it was a private fitting session; she probably was worried ab-_

_I know I have no right to be mad at her, Thorn,_ Murtagh scowled to himself, his eyes squinting against the wind blowing into his face as he hunched down over his dragon's neck, _I just… am. I thought we were having fun, and then she just up and asks me to leave? Why kind of person does that?_

_You would, I'm sure,_ Thorn pointed out, obviously feeling smug at pointing out so obvious and undeniable a person. Thorn's smugness quickly faded, though, to one of sympathy, _I'm sure she didn't even notice that you were annoyed; if you forgive her for whatever she did that actually made you angry, I bet you can pretend that it never happened._

Murtagh's scowl made a valiant attempt to permanently etch itself into his face as he thought about the question for only a few seconds before responding. _That's the problem, Thorn; I simply have no idea what I could be mad about. It's… it's completely illogical. It's based completely on passion and want. It's not like me at all._

_Welcome to the realm of the living; my name is Thorn and I'll be your dragon this lifetime._ Murtagh rolled his eyes at the sarcastic comment as he leaned into the turn. After becoming inexplicably annoyed with Liaden, Murtagh had stormed the entire way to the stable, where Thorn had quietly suggested that they go for a little flying around the castle, where they could communicate with each other incomplete and total privacy while calming down Murtagh simultaneously.

_We should probably land soon; I don't want you too tired for the lesson tonight. _Murtagh could tell that no more progress was going to be made on the issue today, and so instead resigned himself to uncharacteristic hope; hope that tonight Liaden could right whatever imaginary right she'd done, and right the wrong unconsciously. The last thing Murtagh wanted was to talk about this with her.

Thorn agreed with Murtagh's suggestion without a word, instead tilting himself nearly upside down as he turned back towards he castle. Murtagh's legs tightened, the blood rushing towards his head and the pounding and pumping that assaulted his head reminding him of a pounding headache, and nearly resulting in one before Thorn righted himself a few moments later. _You know, I have to wonder how Emerson manages to be so much faster than me; I'm older, after all, and stronger._

Murtagh snorted at his dragon's open ponderings, _Maybe it's because of your muscle; it weighs you down. Maybe you should go on a diet._

_Who knew I had a court jester for a Rider?_ Thorn landed gently on the ground in the back courtyard, Murtagh deciding to continue to rest in the saddle until Thorn had settled on what to do with himself until tonight. That is, Murtagh had made that decision until he heard Liaden's voice call to him from across the courtyard.

"I have to wonder why Emerson doesn't get his own courtyard to hang out in all day; it really is a pain to have to walk the fifteen steps from the castle to the stable." Her voice was sarcastic, and Murtagh forced himself to respond to her seemingly careless tone with his own moderate amount of carelessness.

"There are only two courtyards, and I need the other one on the off chance that someone decides to visit." Murtagh scolded himself for his tone; he still sounded angry, and slightly robotic. Nothing like how he wanted to sound; he'd planned on a less cautious, snappy tone.

Thorn's glare quickly reminded Murtagh to mind himself and be polite, if he couldn't at least sound happy. _Relax, Murtagh; let it come naturally._

Murtagh took a deep breath before he continued his conversation with Liaden. He'd already fell from Thorn's back the moment he heard her, but it was only just then that he finally reached her. Awkwardly, he paused, unsure where they were supposed to be going. Lunch wasn't for another half an hour, according to the clock tower, and he couldn't imagine being with her for that long unnecessarily. "What did you want?"

"I wanted to talk to you after the tailor left, but you'd already gone flying." She wanted to talk to him? What could she possibly want to talk to him about? Wasn't it obvious that he was inexplicably angry, that he was nearly burning with unprovoked anger at being so close to her? "I… I wanted to say I was… sorry."

For one brief moment, Murtagh felt the weight of anger lift off of him, leaving the burning behind. It took Murtagh a moment to figure out why, but he did eventually figure it out; he wasn't quite sure yet if she was going to apologize for what he was angry about. "For what?"

"I was… it made me nervous to have you in there." The second the explanation left her lips, Murtagh felt so light and free of anger that he almost thought he was floating. Of course, he wasn't, and he was still burning, which left him confused as Liaden continued to gush, her cheeks tinting with a natural blush, "God, I can't believe I just said that; I mean, the tailor said it might help if you knew why I wanted you to leave, and he seemed smart enough once we got to talking; if that was too much information, you can just forget it."

For one defining instant, Liaden looked up at Murtagh and made eye contact. The truth seared through both the Rider's mind and the dragon's, resulting in a short of fire from Thorn. The eye contact was broken at the dragon's way of laughing since Laiden jumped in shock.

Murtagh's throat was dry – it was impossible. This… it wouldn't happen; it couldn't happen. It was all too perfectly wrong and perverse to actually be true. After all, this was the real world he was living in, not some fairy tale from New York in the North. There was no happily ever after, and Murtagh simply couldn't risk these feelings.

"Well… thank you for being so honest with me, Liaden; I appreciate it." Murtagh moved to take a step passed her, but she intercepted him.

"You're not still mad, are you? Because if I just admitted to that and you're still mad, then I'm going to feel very very dumb." Once again, Liaden made burning hot eye contact with him, and Murtagh had to shake it off.

"No, no, I'm not angry at you; now, if you'll please excuse me, I've been… neglecting my duties." Murtagh slipped by her, all too ready to take of running in fear. It simply wasn't possible. It wasn't logical.

Thorn's musical, deep laugh echoed through Murtagh's head as the darker-haired Rider started to weave through the staircases towards his room; who would believe it except for himself and Thorn, anyway? No, no, this was too improbable, too ironically perfect.

* * *

_Something happened for the first time, deep inside  
__It was a rush, it was just too much  
__Cause the possibility that you would ever feel the same way about me  
__It's just too much, just too much  
__Why do I keep running from the truth?  
__All I ever think about is you  
__You got me hypnotized, so mesmerized and I've just got to know  
__Do you ever think, when you're all alone  
__All that we can be? Where this could go?  
__Am I crazy or falling in love? Is it really just another crush?  
__Do you catch your breath when I look at you?  
__Are you holding back like the way I do?  
__Cause I'm trying and trying to walk away  
__But I know this crush ain't going away_

Crush by David Archuleta


	13. You Could Be My Unintended

Well, Happy Holidays to you all; as a gift, I plan on having an extra-sweet next chapter and, on Christmas (to distract myself from my family and the impending doom of Christmas dinner) I'll post the finished version of 'Savin Me.'

* * *

Thorn felt himself sigh as he twirled easily through the air, watching with mild boredom as Emerson flew and drifted on the wind with Liaden, obviously making plans to attack. _Really, Murtagh, I see no reason as to why this is so horrifying to you; really, it makes a lot of sense, if you would just think about it logically. It's almost like fate._

Murtagh growled at what his dragon was hinting; to suggest that anything was alright with the Rider's recent onslaught of **feelings** was just… blatantly wrong. There was nothing alright about it and Murtagh refused to believe anything else. After all, to have feelings for Liaden would have dangerous repercussions: he would want to protect her, and doing so would be so instinctual that Murtagh was bound to get himself or Thorn into trouble. Not to mention that he was supposed to be gaining her loyalty and trust only to win her for Galbatorix, which his protective instincts would simply not allow.

But then if he didn't win her for Galbatorix, he and Thorn would pay the penalty. And the last thing Murtagh was willing to do was put Thorn or himself in jeopardy. Nothing Murtagh could ever imagine would be more important than himself and Thorn, especially not some insignificant new Rider. Of course, a total refusal of these emotions was not acceptable in Thorn's apparently romantic views. Murtagh was stuck using a different tactic - brush it off and hope Thorn forgets about it. _Look, Thorn, whether or not I feel this way, nothing will ever come of it, so let's just drop the subject._

Thorn growled, unsure and uncaring as to whether or not his Rider heard or felt the action. His eyes narrowed as he saw Emerson start in a lazy, wide turn back to them, _Emerson, turn more sharply; she flies well enough to stay on. That's what she's trained to do._ Quite aware of his pupil's apprehension, Thorn felt satisfied nonetheless as Emerson's turn became more direct.

Tilting his wings, Emerson flew just above them and rolled, leaving Murtagh to duck and curse loudly into the wind as Liaden slashed the sword she'd been recently allowed to have at Murtagh. Slightly livid, Murtagh started to scream instructions at his student. Of course, the wind made it agonizingly clear that screaming did nothing and, not bothering to shield his thoughts from Thorn **or** Emerson, _Do you really how dangerous what you just did is?! When your dragon rolls, you concentrate on __**staying on!**_

_But you say you don't care about her,_ Thorn thought smugly, carefully guarding his thoughts from both of the students. Thorn snorted at the irony, the smoke momentarily obscuring his sight as Emerson attempted to dive and attack. Thorn's neck swung to the side, easily flicking his tail and body around to slap at Emerson's back end.

Murtagh openly tensed, sharing his anxiety with his dragon, _Could you not attack her so viciously, please? She doesn't fly that often._ At that, Thorn rolled his eyes.

_You do realize that you've been protecting her since the moment she got here, don't you? It comes natural to you to continuously be her hero, for whatever reason. Maybe it __**is**__ fate._ It was Murtagh's turn to roll his eyes at his dragon. But he couldn't fight the overwhelming memories that Thorn forced onto him. _You've been taking care of her since she got here; nothing would change if you at least admitted it._

_Everything would change if I admitted it,_ Murtagh contradicted his dragon,_ for first off, I'd be a liar. Secondly, I'd be faced with a slight crisis: who to take care of, you or her? By not admitting it, I save time. And continue to at least be honest with myself, if no one else._

_You can't deny this forever, Murtagh; eventually, you'll have to accept the fact that you have a crush on the Lady Liaden._

* * *

I coughed in an attempt to fill the awkward silence that ensued immediately after Murtagh and I exited the stables. It last until we were supposed to be parting, but somehow my body was going crazy; it was simple things, like bumping the back of our hands together, that made me twitch and suck at my teeth. It's like ever since the tailor told me to be honest with Murtagh, I was suddenly being constantly reminded that, buried under every other feeling and memory Murtagh, there was that little bit of physical attraction.

It was… horrible. Every part of me burned and contracted and I wanted more than anything else to just relax. I was trying to channel Emerson, who was already sleeping in his stall, completely oblivious to my pain. Well, he knew that I was slowly opening up to Murtagh about my personal feelings, which predictably annoyed him, but he isn't quite sure about the actual impact that Murtagh has recently had on me as a result of my opening up to him.

Pausing awkwardly, I looked up at Murtagh. I could see a slight indentation in his cheek - was he chewing on it, or was that just the dim firelight? "So, uh, the… the robes worked out. I stayed… reasonably warm tonight." That was a concern that was discussed over lunch - whether or not I would be warm in just tights and a miniskirt. But the tailor was right - warmth was not an issue.

"Well, you were with Emerson; a dragon's inner fire can keep you warm better than any real fire or clothing." Oh.

"Oh." Really, what can I say to respond to that? "But he doesn't breathe fire; not yet, at least." I guess I could say that.

"It doesn't matter - he still has his inner fire; it's something they have from birth."

"They develop it in the womb," I provided, the silence that followed physically confining me. If I was claustrophobic, I'd be freaking out right now. "Uh, guess we'll have to… find out tomorrow how warm it is."

"Actually, we've been neglecting your riding skills; Thorn and I were figuring that you'll be working on that for the next few days, at least."

"Oh." He's a really… conversation slaughterer tonight. Pure irony - I'm finally opening up, and without my constant pressure to force him open he's snapping shut on my neck. I feel like I should watch out at risk of that metaphor becoming a reality.

"Well, goodnight, my Lady." My heart skipping a beat and my throat constricting seemed manageable after the physical-reaction hob-job that was my walk up the stairs.

Murtagh, though, didn't seem affected by anything that was happening; he turned on his heel and walked to his room easily, his step the same measured, click-clack sound that always managed to amaze me. I felt disappointed as I watched him walk away; it was like all the work I'd done to force him open had been for nothing. I could have been standing here on my first night and I'd see the exact same thing.

Obviously deciding to surprise me, Murtagh stopped as he reached his door, pausing before looking up at me, a small smirk stuck to his lips, "And if you could just go to bed, now; I'd rather not have to wake up to a sand storm and save you again. It really takes more energy than it's worth."

My jaw dropped, the corners my mouth simultaneously managing to twist into a smile. Murtagh continued to smirk at me, and unless my eyes deceived me he also threw in a heart-shattering wink. The ground trembled, but I had to remind myself that Thorn mentioned not sleeping in the stable tonight because he wanted to get an early rise without waking anyone else up.

After Murtagh slipped into his room, I realized that I couldn't sleep. Only this was a completely different reason than last night; tonight, every bit of my body felt alive because of the last three seconds before the cursed boy left. Last night I just plain old was not in the mood to sleep. Very different.

In spite of Murtagh's joke-warning, I headed away from my bedroom and towards what I call the back balcony - the balcony that overlooks Thorn's area. Maybe talking to Thorn can help me figure out what is going on in his Rider's head; if anyone would know, it'd be him.

I smacked my lips, trying to seem nonchalant as I bounded onto the balcony, continuing to romp enthusiastically towards the fence in an attempt to work out some of my tension, _Hey Thorn; what are you up to out here?_

Thorn's ruby eye popped open at me, squinting; in the time between his landing and my getting out here, he'd managed to curl up into a tight ball and fall into a half-slumber; what is it with dragons and how fast they can fall asleep? Is flying really that tiring for them? Because if it is, they might want to consider another form of transportation. Thorn's answer was short and simple, _Sleeping. Get back inside; I know what Murtagh said to you before he went to bed._

I rolled my eyes as I swung my legs over the edge of the fence, trusting that if I fell Thorn would manage to get to me in time. Really, Thorn's a good dragon, even if Murtagh is a complete and total enigma and either very evil or very good. Either way, I've got no idea, and I'm more than willing to use Thorn to try and figure it out. _I'm not tired; besides, he probably thinks I'm already asleep, so he has no reason to worry._

_He has plenty of reasons to worry,_ Thorn responded, and I knew that the dragon knew something I didn't. Finally, I might get some answers. The red dragon stretched, glimmering in the moonlight like a gem, making me miss Emerson; I really wish he had a courtyard that he could spend the night in so I could sit out here and talk to him. _You aren't going to sleep anytime soon, are you?_

I shook my head, smirking triumphantly. Of course, the fact that I was smirking soon reminded me of Murtagh, which in turn was just horrifying and I stopped immediately. _So, uh…_ I could be blunt, or I could have tact. _So… you enjoying teaching my dragon?_ Alright, I have no idea how that's going to eventually relate to Murtagh and what he's thinking, but I've got faith.

_He's a good enough pupil,_ Thorn's eyes twinkled, and he was obviously suspicious as he crossed his two front claws, his neck arching and bending. _Are you enjoying being taught by your Lord?_

I snorted at hearing Murtagh being called my Lord; sure, he called me 'my Lady' all the time, but it was completely different to hear him being referred to as my Lord. It makes me sound like his property, which I'm definitely not. The titles are just a little outdated; a little pre-feminism. Then again, it does give me an excuse to talk about Murtagh. Success. _Yeah, he's a fun teacher; does he like teaching me?_

You know, that had a lot more tact before I… thought it. God, I hope that Thorn isn't letting Murtagh in on this conversation right about now. Because if he has, I'll never live it down; it'd be ten times worse than when I told him I didn't want him in my fitting room because he makes me nervous. Ten, maybe eleven, who knows.

Thorn looked upwards, stretching his short, stubby neck to get a better look at the heavens. If I thought it were possible, I'd swear I saw a smile on the red dragon's face, but when I blinked in surprise it was gone, and I passed the split-second facial expression to my over-worked imagination. _He does enjoy your company, yes… to a degree._

And I thought all the lore about dragons being cryptic was just that - lore. Who knew that Thorn makes up honest to God riddles? The real question, then, is whether or not he'll give me the answer, or he'll make me figure it out myself. _What is that supposed to mean?_

_He enjoys your company, as far as I can tell…_ Aha! An answer! If only my calculus teacher had been so straightforward. _You confuse him. He think's you're off._ I snorted, and had half a mind to fall back into the balcony and laugh. All that I put myself through to try and figure Murtagh out, and all the while he thinks **I'm** the freak with a weird head. Like he has any right to talk - I still occasionally doubt his having feelings.

_He thinks I'm weird? He could be made of metal and still be able to show more emotion than he shows me now._

_That's what he doesn't get about you - all he really sees of you is the emotion, I think. He doesn't understand the reasoning behind your emotion._ Even coming from a dragon that was actually very deep. Murtagh doesn't understand the reasoning behind my emotions, which confuses him. That should be on a fortune cookie, or something. 'Always let people know the reasons for your emotions.'

"Well, now I know what the Lady thinks of my advice, and her care for my peace of mind." A chill ran down my spine, and I tried my best not to turn and look at him. If I don't see him, maybe he'll just go back to bed and I can continue to sleep. And then I can talk to Thorn more about a less harmful subject.

Instantly, my connection to Thorn resulted in a connection to Murtagh, and I felt very uncomfortable. Murtagh's mind is dark and slightly cavernous, and even though I know there's nothing dangerous in there I'm still not comfortable anywhere passed the huge wall he's built up. The wall is there for a reason, if you ask me. _Did we wake you?_

"To wake me I'd have to have been asleep; I was wide awake and decided that conversation was preferable to silence," Murtagh offered, thankfully deciding to not use his connection to Thorn to speak. If he did, I might be dragged further into the depths of Murtagh's mind, and I'm not even alright when there's a dragon between the two of us. Going any further is dangerous for… my sanity.

My brow furrowed when I noticed something about Murtagh, and I couldn't keep myself from questioning it, "So do you always sleep with a sword, or is there something special going on tonight that I should make sure not to interrupt?"

Murtagh had, instead of leaving when I didn't look at him, made his way to the fence and sat down next to me, making it hard to ignore the sword that was hanging from his belt. Murtagh fingered the hilt of it as I sat there, recognizing the jewel in the sword that meant that this wasn't just any sword - this was Murtagh's red sword. It's the same shade as Thorn and I think he once dared to eat me when I got too close to him. "I sleep with the sword next to my bed, for safety purposes, and I never leave my room without it."

I nodded - it made sense, if you're a paranoid dragon rider. And Murtagh is a paranoid dragon rider if he's anything. If Murtagh lived on Earth, he'd be one of those conspiracy theorists that everyone thinks is completely and totally nuts who never pays taxes so the government will have no record of him. But then he'd mysteriously appear on the evil dictator's side as his right hand man. Strange.

_What would you have been dreaming about, I wonder, if you'd been asleep?_ Thorn sounded mischievous, which of course made me curious. What was so secretive about Murtagh's dreams? Well, more secretive than everything else about him, at least.

After a few seconds, a there was a flash of very jumbled, blurry images before flying sideways at the feeling of being pushed physically out of Murtagh's mind. I oofed as I hit the wall, but had enough sense to dig my nails into the stone wall when the ground shook, probably because of something Thorn did. A warm hand encased my ankle, like that would keep me on the wall, but after a few seconds everything stilled and I shook the hand away.

"What was that?" I tried my best to sound annoyed as I sat back up, now a considerable distance away from Murtagh and nowhere close to his mind. I'm not even attempting to reach out and see if any sort of connection is possible. I don't want to see his mind again.

"That was… not meant for your eyes; what did you see?" For the first time in his life, Murtagh sounded panicked, and not about anything to do with his dragon. He was looking at me with honest to God worry in his eyes about what I'd seen. It was tempting to pull his leg and make up something very vivid, but I don't think I could make up anything close to what actually happened, and the genuine worry could turn to genuine anger if I decide to play a joke on him.

"Just some blurry images; it all happened too fast for me to be able to see what was actually happening." Murtagh nodded, the tiniest bit of the breath he let out hitting my face and making me start. His breath smelled like peppermint, which I didn't think was possible in a world with no toothpaste or gum. Then again I think there's something natural that smells like peppermint; they could have that here.

"Good, good; you… you wouldn't want to see it," Murtagh muttered, carefully placing his palms on the back edge of the large stone railing and resting some of his weight on them. I flinched - the edge of the stone was sharp, and of course he had his palm resting on the edge. Logic told me that it would soon cut into him and his hand would be bleeding, but then again he is Murtagh.

_I think she may have found it amusing._

"Drop it, Thorn; I don't dream and you know it," Murtagh responded, his normally deep voice taking on an animalistic quality, as if he were growling. Thorn didn't seem as disturbed by the… unpleasant emotion as I was, seeing as how he just stood, resettled in a different position, and laid back down. I, on the other hand, considered resettling a little further away; what would happen if I could actually decipher what I saw?

Quite opposite of what I wanted, Murtagh scooted closer to me for whatever reason, leaning in to question me, "Are you cold?"

"What?" Where did that question even come from? Or does he randomly do that and I just never actually listened to him before? "Uh… no."

"Because if you were," Murtagh continued as if he were in my mind; he's not, but that doesn't change the fact that he's responding like he is, "We would know to tell the tailor to make the rest of your outfits with a heavier fabric to keep you warmer."

Oh. I should be thinking more clearly than that, but Murtagh's peppermint breath is puffing in my face again and the recognition of the smell is making my brain go haywire. And yes, that **is **the only reason. I've made my decision.

* * *

I groaned as I twisted and turned, fighting the arms that were keeping me away from the green dragon. With sickening detail, I was forced to watch as Murtagh fought with it, scrambling around his neck and attempting to stab at it with his swords. Everything slowly started to glitter and fade, but I fought against it, trying to figure out why Thorn hadn't come to help Murtagh.

With a roar, the dragon flicked his neck as the sword scraped his dark green scales, obviously disturbed that he'd come so close to death. "MURTAGH, SAVE EMERSON!" But Murtagh was too concentrated on the dragon at hand, and continued to stab and miss. What felt like an eternity after the fight, an eternity of feeling Emerson's life slip away from him, one of the whip-like movements of the dragon's neck sent Murtagh flying, and as the vision faded completely to black I just made out his back snapping against the rocks.

But when the visions faded I didn't wake up, even though I was sure I was dreaming. Instead I floated in pure blackness, just a scientific theory, and watched, waiting; I instinctually knew there was something more my subconscious had to show me, because otherwise I'd wake up or stop dreaming. And, on some magical cue, a very blurry picture flashed in front of me like a movie screen.

Slowly, so slowly I was almost bored, the picture started to focus, and the dark colors began to separate into lights and shadows, until I could make out the picture very clearly: a man, lying as if he'd fallen down the stairs that were underneath him, with large shoulders and dark hair, the same color as Murtagh's. Only it was disturbing, because Murthagh's distinctive red sword was sticking out of his heart.

As soon as the image was discernable it changed, this one more orange in nature. Eventually, it faded to a dark-haired boy, smiling and laughing as he built a small fire next with the sun setting behind him. A few more images flashed by in that fashion: a dark-haired woman with soft gray eyes but a fierce expression; a red dragon much larger and much more menacing than Thorn; and, finally, two dark shadows, obviously one male and female, standing very closely in the dark, overlooking the lake.

* * *

"Liaden, it's time to get up," Murtagh's very distinguishable deep voice was almost humming above the fire, and I miraculously managed to open my eyes after his bidding only once. He smiled, one of his arms splayed out behind him and propping up his torso. "Good morning, m'lady."

I bit my lip, my heart skipping a beat as I slowly started to forget the second part of my dream, except for the first disturbing image. "Hey." I paused for a moment, trying to accept that whatever had happened with the sword was probably for the best in some cruel, twisted way. Something about what I'd seen didn't seem right, anyway.

"Did you, uh, sleep well?" I nodded, trying to form a coherent thought to use to respond to Murtagh.

"Yeah, but why are you waking me up?"

"Because it needed to be done."

"But this is the… second morning in a row, I think." Really, I could be smarter right now.

Murtagh smirked, looking disgustingly smug, "Well, usually a lady in waiting would wake the lady of the castle, but you made me send yours into the desert to her rightful tribe."

* * *

_Restless tonight cause I wasted the light__  
Between both these times I drew a really thin line  
__It's nothing I planned, and not that I can__  
But you should be mine across this line__  
If I traded it all, if I gave it all away for one thing  
__Just for one thing  
__If I sorted it out, if I knew all about this one thing__  
Wouldn't that be something?__  
I promise I might not walk on by  
__Maybe next time, but not this time  
__Even though I know, I don't want to know  
Yeah, I guess I know, I just hate how it sounds_

One Thing by Finger Eleven

***Note:** This is on of those chapter titles that might not seem to fit, but it fits the overall story arch.


	14. You're Strange and You're Beautiful

I yawned uncharacteristically loudly as I followed Murtagh out of the dining hall, and he smirked, "Did I keep you up too late last night, m'lady?" I grunted in response, deciding instead to forget everything about last night. Looking back on it, it seemed more like a girlish fantasy, anyway; a dream more than something that actually happened. There's no way that I sat up and talked with Murtagh and Thorn while Emerson slept soundly. It's just weird; Emerson would've heard and freaked out, or something.

I turned suddenly on Murtagh, resulting in his staggering sideways, away from me. "I'm going to go riding today." Murtagh's brow furrowed, obviously trying to place what I'd just told him in any part of the conversation that we'd been having. But it doesn't fit, I know that; I'm trying to spend a day away from him, and I am completely aware of the fact that if I don't tell him something else, I'll just end up hanging out with him in the library. I have to tell him, because otherwise I won't commit.

_Won't commit to what, child?_ Immediately, the past few moments flashed through my mind, and I fought to keep Emerson from seeing anymore. I dare anyone to tell me that he'll be pleased that I spend all last night with Murtagh and Thorn, "Just chillin'." He'd eat Thorn before he let it happen again, and before you know it Emerson is pulling all-nighters to monitor my social life and I have to figure out how to force him to sleep.

"Alright… I hope Emerson knows about it." Murtagh was at a loss for words, but Emerson had more than enough to say, mostly because he knew that I meant I was going to ride Pappy, not Emerson. To me, it makes sense; I haven't ridden him since I got here, and lord knows when they let him out to run around in a field. "I admire your work ethic."

_You are not riding that horse! I can feel his energy from here – HE'S CRAZY!_

"No, no," I rushed, ignoring Emerson for the moment; Murtagh was easier to respond to, even if it means that I could catch his eyes and have to hide numerous physical reactions from Emerson, which is harder than responding to Emerson anyway. "I meant ride my horse." _I __**have**__ to ride him because he's crazy, Emerson; he won't calm down spinning in circles in his stall. He has to be ridden._

"You are **not** riding that horse," Murtagh asserted, and I shivered at the not just similarity, but the exact repetition of the rules. Of course, Emerson said it because he cares about me and doesn't want me to get hurt; I have no idea why Murtagh said it, and I don't want to stand here guessing why and getting myself excited like a teenage girl whose crush just smiled asked her for a pencil.

_Her __**what?!**_

My eyes widened when I realized that Emerson had just heard why I said, and in my panic I blurted out my response, "It's just a saying!" For one second, everything around me and inside my head was silent, and I was able to realize what I'd just done. "I, uh, sorry." I turned, sucking momentarily at my teeth as I continued walking with Murtagh. "I'm talking with Emerson in my head, and, uh, that kind of just came out." Murtagh's eyebrows were raised, making it very painfully obvious that he thought I was a freak. My heart broke a little as I turned internally towards the stables, _Let me finish with Murtagh first, alright?_ Making it very clear that Emerson was annoyed with taking a back seat to someone he considered to be the evil incarnate, and someone who I should consider to be the evil incarnate, Emerson resigned to listening in on my life. "I very well can ride that horse – I've been riding him since he was three."

"We have no suitable saddles for you to ride him in; besides, the tailor said he might come by later today with a few dresses for you to try on." My immediate reaction to Murtagh's arguments was to laugh; I held it in, but just barely. Obviously, he doesn't know who he's talking to.

_Let's keep it that way._

Emerson's annoyance cut off any semblance of good humor that I would've been able to manage, and instead I was forced to pretend to be just as annoyed as Emerson honestly felt, "I've known that horse long enough to not need a saddle. I don't need your permission to ride my own horse."

"You don't need my permission, but I could always decide that I don't trust your having any sort of freedom and lock you in your room."

Alright, now I'm feeling actually offended. Somehow in our meandering, we had made our way to Murtagh's private library. He turned to face me, his facial expression remaining calm and unaffected as I started to hiss in anger at him, "How dare you say that I'm untrustworthy! What do I have to do to gain some of your respect, anymore? You come home from your deranged king, and instead of leaving I sit at your bedside and try to help you! You give me millions of chances to run away everyday and I never once consider it!"

_You should; we've learned almost everything they can teach us, I think._

"How long are you going to hold healing over my head before you let it go? Do you think you're some saint? That I should bow to you and your unworldly goodness?" Murtagh's voice was low and controlled, revealing more emotion than his stoic face could; he was angry, bitter. For the first time in a long time, possibly ever, I was honestly scared of Murtagh.

My heart froze before I shook it off; there was no reason to be scared of Murtagh. Even if he looks menacing, I know better. He's like my rock; he's the only reason I'm surviving at all. "You know what I'm trying to say." I was amazed at how I managed to match his bitterness, his threatening tone. It's honestly a little unnerving. Where did that even come from? I feel fine.

For a moment, Murtagh's eyes met mine in a heated gaze, and I considered possible things that could result from this one intense stare. It's liking after asking to borrow my pencil, he's commenting on some inexplicable doodle on my notebook, or whatever it is happened back home. I'm… well, the world's slowly tilting and turning the more I look at Murtagh like this. I should stop.

_Yes, you should._ Emerson was bitter, but less angry than Murtagh was or I'd sounded. But it shook me enough that I could break the eye contact, even if I felt physically pained at the loss. I don't, but even if I did I could.

"I'll be riding, first in the courtyard and then, once Pappy calms down, I'm taking him out to ride in the desert. If you need me… I don't know, find me." With that, I turned and quickly headed down the hall. See, that's what I meant when I said that if I didn't make it very clear that I wasn't staying and hanging out for the day, some other things would happen.

_I can't believe what I just witnessed; how did you let this happen?!_ Emerson's panic very desperately wanted to spread through me, but I'm dealing with something else. Now that Emerson knows, can I deny that I actually have feelings for Murtagh? Silently, I made a deal with myself – if I can convince Emerson, who is in my mind almost every moment of the day and knows me better than I do, that I don't have feelings for Murtagh, than I don't and that's the end of it. But if he doesn't believe me, then I have to admit it.

_Nothing,_ I started off, _Murtagh and I looked at each other; there was nothing special about it._ Heh, I wouldn't even be fooling my mother yet, and she's an idiot. At least, an idiot with me.

_And what of everything else that I saw, what I know you felt? _Ugh, why can't Emerson be dumb like my mother? _Was that nothing, too? _I nodded stubbornly, hearing his snort as I entered the stable. I was quite aware of the fact that Emerson hadn't seen my nod, but I didn't care; he got the message.

* * *

_Murtagh._ I growled as a few select images flashed through my mind, leaning over Pappy's neck and enjoying him without his jittery, excited energy. Currently we were cantering around the bottom of what can only be described as a valley. Emerson sat at the top of the side of the valley that was in the direction of the castle, determined to prove that I was hiding my feelings for Murtagh from him. Normally, I'd think this was all very picturesque, except for the fact that Emerson isn't doing it so that I can admit my feelings and confront Murtagh; Emerson's doing it so that he can prove that it's time for us to leave, which I'm not alright with. Emerson may have learned everything he feels he can from Thorn, but I can barely float a pebble.

_I told you, I don't feel anything for him except for contempt; I'm with you a hundred percent. He's evil!_ I flinched; Murtagh wasn't evil. Even if his… intensity had scared me earlier, I felt safe with him; he wouldn't hurt me. It's not like he's a vampire, or something. He doesn't crave my blood – he thinks that a monarchy is better than anarchy. I'm not… completely disinclined to agree.

_Then why can't we leave? Let's go right now._

I physically shook my head as I straightened my back, pulling Pappy down to a trot and then a walk, _We have no supplies and no idea which way South is. We leave now and we'll be captured again before we reach Surda._

_At least I'll know where your loyalties lie._

My jaw dropped as I turned, my legs flipping to face backwards and see Emerson, _I can't believe you said that!_ It's like Murtagh accusing me of being untrustworthy, only worse because Emerson is my dragon, and way more important to me than anything else in this world. _I… I…_

_That was uncalled for, and I apologize, but even if you do have feelings for Murtagh, you need to remember what's important. Even if he is dark and in some bizarre way attractive, I still can't shake the feeling that he's hiding things from us._ I sighed; I'm not going to be able to convince Emerson that I don't like Murtagh, which according to my previous deal with myself means that I… like Murtagh. Oh… fudge.

Pouting, I rotated again, taking a hold of Pappy's reins and letting myself collapse onto his neck. We were both tired, but I don't want to go back to the castle now. It's the first night I realized that attraction to Murtagh was a possibility all over again. Only, well, worse; now it's not just a possibility, it's fact. I can't deny it, I can't fight it, it's just there, sitting in the pit of my stomach like a rock.

_Do you think we should be getting back? I wanted to get some lunch before we left._ But also key is the fact that I don't want to eat lunch with Murtagh. That's just a bad decision, and who knowingly makes a bad decision? Not me, not anymore; Garrett was a bad decision, and look where that led me. So even if these feelings aren't just some delusion of mine, they aren't actually going to… affect anything. Murtagh is my teacher, my captor, my jail warden, etc. He is not boyfriend material.

_My meat will be cold no matter when we leave now, so all I can suggest is that we start to head back to the castle before dusk._ I rolled my eyes – Emerson: wise, thoughtful, and indecisive. Except when it comes to Murtagh. But that's good because I'm very indecisive about him. And when I **am** decisive… it's bad. I make bad decisions a lot, and that's stopping now. I'll check with Emerson before I do anything.

_Thanks. Thanks a lot._

* * *

Murtagh grunted as he lashed his sword downwards at the Urgal, who raised his shield and grunted in return. _It's useless, Thorn._ Murtagh turned as he slashed upwards, knocking the Urgals shield away, leaving the Urgal to stab down at the Rider with his spear. _You can't make me admit to something that is simply not true._

Thorn sat carefully on the sidelines of the battle, his claws tucked carefully out of the way of the sparring boy and Urgal. He shook his head lightly, and Murtagh silently scolded the dragon for the physical component of the conversation. Thorn continued, despite his other half's disapproval, _Well, it's good that that's not what I'm trying to do; I'm trying to make you admit to something that is very real._

Murtagh snorted as he continued to dodge and run from the very angry Urgal, too distracted by his conversation with Thorn to be able to turn and attack. _I don't have feelings for the Lady Liaden! It's simply not possible._ Thorn's snort resulted in enough smoke to distract the Urgal, and Murtagh seized his opportunity to turn and stab his opponent in the chest.

The Urgal, completely unharmed, staggered backwards before bowing out of the courtyard. Exhausted, Murtagh staggered towards his dragon and fell to sit next to his dragon, his legs buckling from the effort he'd put into fighting. Wherever this pent up frustration had come from, he'd just let it out on that poor Urgal. _It's very possible._ Thorn slowly readjusted his legs to spread out in front of him. _I don't know why you're so angry; just because you have feelings for her doesn't mean that the world will fall from under you. Maybe it'll make you more determined to find a way out of Galbatorix's rule._

_Or put us on the fast track to being executed,_ Murtagh responded sarcastically, wiping at his forehead and squinting at the door across the courtyard as it opened. He'd chosen specifically to have his sparring session in the front courtyard because it was bigger, and hadn't considered the idea that someone might drop by.

Watching as she rode in, looking very carefree and happy and attractive in the mid-afternoon sun, the male Rider had to remind himself to breathe. Something about her at that moment was indescribably irresistible; she was leaning back on her bareback horse, her toes pointing the wrong way and only using one hand to steer her large, bay horse.

Emerson plodded along next to her, and it was him that she was looking at before they turned, obviously planning to head straight to the stable through the archway in the first floor. As if it were an afterthought, Liaden turned and waved at him. Half-heartedly, Murtagh raised his own hand in response, trying to mask the adrenaline that was forcing it to shake.

_That's not adrenaline, Murtagh._

The Rider sighed as he fall back onto the shaking hand, his calf twitching sporadically. He wanted to shake his head and disagree – adrenaline was a perfectly acceptable explanation for why he'd been shaking – but his entire body wanted to collapse, and he couldn't deny that, once the frustration and anger had been drained from him, he was actually happy to see Liaden come back. He wanted her here.

* * *

I sighed as I sat there, watching as Emerson and Thorn milled around, Thorn itching to fly across the lake and work on breathing fire with Emerson. Emerson, on the other hand, doesn't want to leave; he's feeling particularly protective of me tonight, especially because of my realization from earlier this afternoon. Why would he want to leave me here with his least favorite person in the world just so I can slowly fall for him?

Thorn nudged Emerson with his head, but Emerson continued to stay close to me, staring at Murtagh and trying to break into his mind. I'm sure Thorn knows what's going on – I've seen that dragon figure out much weirder things from much less information than this. _My student, we must be leaving. Plans have changed; tonight, we breathe fire._

Emerson nodded at his teacher before arching his neck back at me, _I have to go._

I rolled my eyes; I'm not nearly as worried as he is. I have a semblance of self-control, and I'm confident. _Then go already._

_I don't want to leave you alone with him._ I shook my head, once again rolling my eyes. Does Emerson realize that he's just making things worse by staying? _Just… _Emerson glanced awkwardly between Murtagh and myself, making it even more painfully obvious that we were talking about the Rider, _Just promise me that nothing will happen, please?_

I wanted to roll my eyes for the third time, and had half a mind to, but I restrained myself. What Emerson was asking was actually a little serious. And I should taking him seriously. _Of course nothing will happen, Emerson; you have my word._

* * *

My eyes itched as I stared at the fist-sized rock sitting by the lake, which I was supposed to be flipping through the air. But I'm tired, and so is Murtagh, so really we're just kind of sitting and staring and making believe that the rock is flipping through the air. "You know what I wonder?"

Murtagh yawned, "Why I didn't just cancel the lesson so we could catch up on our sleep?" I shook my head, and my teacher snorted in response, "That's all I'm thinking about."

"I'm wondering about your parents." I wasn't quite sure why, but that was the complete and total truth. "And I'm wondering what they did to make you who you are."

I could sense Murtagh's tensing; he's been strangely open tonight. "I…" He paused, clearing his throat, before trying again, this time sounding amused and careless, "Who I am?"

I nodded again, deciding last-minute to elaborate, "You know – who you are to the world; stoic, angry, sans reaction."

"Sans?"

"Means without – slang from New York." Or, you know, a real word from the French language. It's all the same.

Murtagh nodded, "What I learned from my childhood is to protect what you have with everything you have, except yourself." His… candidness shocked me into silence. Technically, it wasn't what I was asking, but it was close enough that I could actually make believe that he'd answered the question completely. And then… and then what he'd said actually hit me.

"That sounds absolutely horrible." The words spilled from my mouth before I could stop them, and I felt myself start to blush; oh God, I'm blushing. "I mean, I was with you, up to the part where you said 'except yourself.' I mean…" How can I say what I want to say without making it painfully obvious that I like him, while also not offending him. "Don't you think there are some things worth dying for?"

Murtagh's response was immediate, "Pft. Like what?"

"Love."

The moment I said it, the tension was in all seriousness tangible. Like the string from me to Murtagh was suddenly pulled tight, and I wanted to sink into the sand and die so that I wouldn't have to keep up with this conversation. I wasn't just blushing – I was burning. If I were Emerson, I'd be able to breathe fire. Hell, I think I have sympathy for him at this point. It's painful, to have this internal fire burning inside of me.

A few seconds later, the silence was broken by a quiet roar rolling across the lake. I screamed at what I saw – green flames. GREEN FLAMES! They were beautiful; they shone in the darkness like some exploding star, but still; what does that mean? Did Emerson just internally combust, or should the flames he's breathing be green? "Murtagh?" My voice was unabashedly panicked, but Emerson's my dragon, damn it! "Murtagh, should Emerson be breathing flames that color?"

I started sucking at my teeth and tensing one of my limbs at a time to work off some of the nervous energy that was coursing through me, mostly from the tension that was still very obvious between Murtagh and I, but a good portion of it being owed to the fact that my dragon just started to breathe fire. I realized that it was necessary to look somewhere else, **anywhere** else, I turned to Murtagh, him being the only other thing worth looking at on the entire landscape.

It was a mistake to look at him – Emerson's flames were growing miraculously, and some of the light was spilling onto Murtagh's face, a medium-shaded green and defining his strong features so that he resembled a fallen angel. He was… beautiful. I've come to the realization so often, and yet it still struck me. He was… beautiful. Gorgeous. Breathtaking.

He was thoughtful, but the corners of his lips were slightly angled upwards, "I thought his flame would be darker, but then again it is the middle of the night, and you should be proud that his flame is bright enough to be seen from across the lake with any clear definition of shape or color. But he seems to have quite… astonishing control over his flame. You do realize this means he's mature, right? He'll want a mate, soon, or he'll be thinking about it, if he's anything like Thorn was."

And… there's the tension. Mentioning mating was just a bad idea, but then again he doesn't realize at all what is going on inside my head. I'm sure he feels the tension, though; this tension is like… syrup mixing with the air in a bubble around us. If I keep this up, he'll be sure to know, which directly contradicts the promise I made to Emerson all of an hour ago. Murtagh can't know, so I should probably find a way to break the tension.

"So…" Great, now I need to follow that up.

After what felt like an eternity, which of course would translate to only a few moments, Murtagh leaned forward and flicked a piece of hair out of my face, leaving me gasping for air and blushing. This is completely ridiculous. I'm eighteen, for heaven's sake! I shouldn't be acting like a thirteen year old girl whose cute gym teacher is helping her with her volleyball spike. I bit my lip as I sat there, continuing to burn in embarrassment as Emerson slowly started to fly towards us from across the lake. Lesson's over, I guess.

"I… I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done that." Murtagh sounded absolutely horrified, and I was about to give into my natural inclination to tell him not to worry about it, that he didn't do anything wrong, but before I could say anything Emerson finally touched my mind, maybe halfway across the lake, _Did you see my flame, Liaden? I breathed fire!_

* * *

_You talk too much – maybe that's your way of breaking up the silence that fills you up  
__But it doesn't sound the same when no one's really listening  
__We stumble into our lives, reach for a hand to hold  
__And any wonder; we need to find a certain something, certain  
__Turn out the light and what are you left with?  
__Open up my hands and find out they're empty  
__Press my face to the ground, I've got to find a reason  
__Just scratching around for something to believe in_

Something to Believe In by Aqualung


	15. This Is What I Thought

"At sunrise, everything is luminous but not clear." A River Runs Through It by Norman Maclean

**Full Title:** This is what I thought so think me naive

This is one of my favorite chapters to date.

* * *

Murtagh could feel his legs tensing underneath him as he crept through mostly unfamiliar hallways; he knew where he was, and he knew he'd been there before and yet he couldn't be completely confident of where he was going mostly because he could not remember the name of where he was. There were shackles around his wrists, but strangely Murtagh didn't feel worried or uneasy. He knew where he wanted to go – the kitchen.

Things were going generally well for him, meaning that he hadn't run into someone who would throw him back into the dungeon, until he ducked down one hallway and, about a third of the way down said hallway, heard the most pleasantly familiar sound through a closed doorway: his Lady Liaden laughing.

Murtagh was forced to stop instantly at the shock; the castle was dark, wherever he was, except for where the windows let in the light of a red-orange sunset. There was a single door on the wall with the windows halfway down the hallway, on Murtagh's left hand side, and Murtagh was sure that he'd heard his Lady's laughing from behind that door. His dilemma, then, was whether or not to continue in his creeping in hopes of finding the kitchen, or to go to the Lady Liaden and ask her for help.

He heard her laughing again, and for a second the sound drew Murtagh like a moth to a flame before he forced himself to stop and figure out what would be best; if Liaden was not in the dungeon, as Murtagh assumed he'd been in (he couldn't quite remember), then chances were that she was a guest at this castle, even if he was not. This alone did not make sense, unless of course she'd done something stupid to try and help Emerson.

There was another laugh, and this time Murtagh was drawn almost into wherever Liaden was. Whatever decision he made, Murtagh understood that he had to make it fast since the longer he stood here, the most likely he was to get caught. _Who could Liaden be with?_ Murtagh pondered the question for a moment, but since he wasn't sure where he was then he couldn't be sure of whom she was with.

Finally giving into his instincts, Murtagh used his shackled hands to pry the door open, only stopping when he heard the horrified gasps of two people inside. Two heads turned towards him from the edge of a balcony – Eragon's and Liaden's. Murtagh stumbled backwards, shocked at seeing his student with his brother, two people who should be on opposite sides of the war and thereby not sitting on a balcony watching the sun set and laughing.

Liaden's jaw dropped, but Eragon didn't seem surprised at being interrupted. As Liaden scooted away from Eragon, leaving an awkwardly empty space between them, Murtagh's heart broke. Everything became sickeningly clear to him in that moment and, swallowing passed the dryness in his throat, Murtagh staggered further backwards into the hall.

"Murtagh," Liaden swung her legs easily over the railing that she and Eragon were sitting on, deciding Lord knows what; Murtagh felt like he didn't know her anymore. "Murtagh, you really shouldn't have left your room; if someone sees you we can't put you back in a low-security room." Murtagh felt an inexplicable urge to explain himself, to apologize, but for the life of him he could not figure out why. "Murtagh, please…"

* * *

Murtagh's eyes snapped open of their own accord; a quick glance around his room told him that the guard in his room had fallen asleep while standing up, and the fire was burning low enough that the crackling sound it made wasn't at all disturbing. Instead, Murtagh had to accept that he'd woken up because the dream had disturbed him that much. His sheets were tangled around him to the point that Murtagh would be amazed if he would be able to get out of his beds without cutting the sheets off of him. _Sleep well?_

Murtagh glanced cautiously out his window; it was just before dawn, fairly early even by Murtagh's standards. If he had his choice, he would go back asleep, but he knew quite well that until he figured out exactly what his dream had been trying to tell him. _Thorn, I need you to keep your eye on Liaden._ Attempting to explain his sudden fears, Murtagh let Thorn far enough into his head to see the dream, _I think she may have been lying to us all along._

_Imagine that._ Thorn was obviously in a sarcastic mood, _What are you going to do about it?_

_I'm going to research,_ Murtagh replied, the word making him cringe as he managed to detach himself from his bed. "Guard," he barked, ignoring how the guard jumped to attention before rubbing at his eyes inconspicuously, "I want you to wake Lady Liaden at the appropriate time; tell her that I won't be joining her for breakfast and possibly not for lunch. Have someone bring me my food when it is ready; I'll be in my private study."

_What could you possibly research about her? Couldn't this dream have been just a dream, Murtagh?_ Murtagh paused as he pulled his belt around his waist, chewing over the thought in his mind momentarily before quickly shaking it out.

_Dragon Riders rarely have 'just dreams.' Even if it was, I have to check everything she has ever said to me out; if she's…_ Murtagh swallowed in attempt to soothe his dry throat, reminding him too perfectly of his dream, _If she's with the Varden, then we're in more danger than if Galbatorix were to get a hold of us._

_What about that dream could make you think that she's allied with the Varden? Maybe it means that she's just as important to you as Eragon is; maybe it means that one day, no matter what you do, she will join the Varden. Nothing about that dream makes it plausible that it happened in the past._

_She was laughing with Eragon; she knew him before, I'm sure of it._ Murtagh stubbornly walked the few steps down the hall, slamming the door to his study behind him. He grabbed the first book he could reach, _Thorn, she healed me, and on her first try, even though she couldn't float a pebble; wouldn't it make more sense for her to know everything and be acting than to know absolutely nothing?_

* * *

I sighed as I sat just outside the stable, leaning against Emerson and watching as Pappy pranced around in a small pasture outside. It was a particularly hot day, but I couldn't bring myself to mind Emerson's added heat. He was practicing breathing fire, something I was slowly getting used to; I still didn't like the idea, since what little maternal instinct I have tells me not to let what I care about play with fire, but I've accepted it.

Pappy seemed to be quite content to run around in his pasture and kick up sand, even if there was no grass to graze on. His coat glistened with sweat, and if he kept up his wild running then I might have to go in there and calm him down so that he wouldn't overheat. _Emerson, what do you think Murtagh is doing?_

Emerson's growl vibrated through my body, and the small, steady stream of fire that had been blowing harmlessly away from the castle momentarily flared into a small ball. Really, I think I'm doing pretty well; so far, I haven't talk to Emerson at all about Murtagh, even though I haven't seen my teacher since last night after my lessons. And when I openly have a crush on someone, it's really an accomplishment to not have mentioned him already to someone who can read my mind.

_You were told he was doing research; he's probably preparing for your lesson tonight, or he has a meeting with the King soon. Either way he's not what you should be concentrating on._

I shrugged, torn between feeling defensive and hurt because of Emerson's disappointment. _I'm not concentrating on him, I'm pondering. Aren't I allowed to ponder anymore?_ As if to answer my question, though if it were an answer it wasn't an answer that I understood, I heard the castle's door slam as it hit the outer wall, insinuating that whoever was rushing out was in a hurry. Hoping it was Murtagh, and that he was hurrying for various reasons towards me, I was obviously disillusioned when I stood and turned to see it was a large group of Urgals. Once the feeling past, I called to them, "What's wrong?" After all, what could seeing a group of Urgals mean except that something is wrong.

By some careless panic that was instinctual, I reached towards the youngest Urgal's mind and saw a few sorted images, mostly envisioning the Urgals dragging me and Emerson around. I screamed, the only warning that Emerson needed, but it was too late for me; two Urgals savagely wrapped their hands around my arms before I could hop onto Emerson's back. Emerson started to fight his captors almost immediately as they attempted to jump onto his back and tie ropes around him. His roar made his discontent obvious, and it only took him a few seconds to shake the off.

I watched this all as I struggled against the two Urgals whom I could never hope to overpower, and I shouted various profanities at them instead. Who did they think they were? If I could control my magic, I would be burning them to crisps at this moment. It didn't take either brute long to drag me into the castle, where I could only hear Emerson's screams as they rattled the walls but could have no idea as to what was happening.

Desperate, I reached simultaneously to Murtagh's and Thorn's mind, _What's happening?_ Thorn quickly blocked me out of his head, making me feel very lonely; Murtagh's mind was stereotypically closed to the world, but I could tell he was close. Moreover, just the smallest bit of anger radiated from where I sensed him, worrying me much more than the large group of Urgals had.

I hadn't explored the first floor much in my time here, since there didn't seem to be any point, and of course that was exactly where the Urgals were taking me. They didn't seem to mind my kicking and screaming, or that in my fighting I had managed to force their arms to my wrists which, in turn, meant that they were dragging me along on the hard stone ground.

Then, just as rough as the transportation to my destination had been, the twin Urgals threw me into a small, stone room that lacked both windows and any form of decoration. Inside, just off center and a little towards the back of the room, stood Murtagh, looking positively murderous. "Thank you, that will be all," he quickly dismissed the guards, his voice snapping.

For the first few minutes that I was in the room, I watched Murtagh with careful eyes; what was going on? Couldn't the Urgals have just… asked me to come nicely? Murtagh had to know that I would come if he wanted to talk to me. And why… why here, in the officially most depressing room in the entire castle? And why is Emerson fighting with Urgals for his freedom? I thought we were trusted.

"Murtagh, what is going on?" I rubbed my wrists affectionately before abandoning the action; it hurt the manhandled skin more than it soothed it, "I mean, are the Urgals rebelling? Do you need me to fight?"

"I think you've been doing too much fighting," Murtagh responded, and suddenly the entire room took on the atmosphere of a police interview; Murtagh was obviously the detective questioning me, and if I know him he's hell bent on breaking me. Too bad I'm not guilty of whatever happened. "Liaden, I need you to tell me everything about your past; tell me about New York, about how you found Emerson."

"Murtagh, what is go-"

Murtagh cut off my question by reaching his hand forward, Anakin Skywalker-style, and I felt a sudden pressure wrap around my throat. Immediately my body forced me to start gagging and gasping for breath, and my fingers started to claw my neck hopefully before I was thrown back into the wall. If I could've, I would've cried as the pain jolted through me.

For one horrifying second I realized that this was the first time Murtagh had actually harmed me, and in that second I wanted to die a little. What had happened to him? This wasn't the Murtagh I'd come to slightly obsess over and joke with about the names of the Lord and Ladies of the court. "You aren't the one asking questions, Liaden, so if you would please answer the question."

My heart started racing as I continued to claw at the pressure on my throat, which lessened as Murtagh stepped closer to me; my legs kicked against the wall, and I was conversely disgusted by the way Murtagh said my name now, the way he almost spit it out. His deep voice didn't drag over the syllables the way I remembered. When I could breathe, I finally told Murtagh the answer. By this time, he was only a few inches away. It's ironic, this is the kind of closeness that I'd have done anything for not ten minutes ago. "I…" I gasped for more air, "I can't tell you, Murtagh; you know that."

"I swear to you that I will not attack your hometown, now tell me!" The pressure tightened around my neck again, this time the magic from Murtagh's outstretched hand glowing red momentarily before it once again disappeared into invisibility. I choked, which obviously frustrated Murtagh more as he let my head fall forward before slamming it back into the wall, "Tell me, Liaden!"

"M… Murtagh, you're…" I didn't know what to do to calm him down, but I've got to give it a shot. "You're hurting me."

For a second, I was sure that Murtagh either didn't hear me or, more likely, what I'd said had angered him and I was going to die. I didn't think there was anything I could do to fight it; Murtagh was more powerful than me, even after however much training he'd put me through. I didn't even know what the words would be to make him leave me alone.

But then that moment passed and something sparked in Murtagh's eyes; I was too horrified to completely comprehend what it was, but his hand dropped and the pressure on my neck disappeared altogether. I guess my pain and fear combined and worked in my favor, but I wasn't about to stay and test Murtagh's suddenly-there sympathy. Still gasping for breath, I turned and pulled out the door, my legs lengthening. I felt like Belle running from the Beast, only I need to find my trust steed. _EMERSON?!_

I heard the clanking of armor behind me as I rushed down the hall and turned suddenly out the front courtyard. _I escaped, Liaden; I'm coming for you._ Of course, I had no idea just how far away he was, but I had to get out of the castle. I could slip through the bars on the drawbridge if I had to, but I wasn't standing around. Adrenaline pushed me forward, and luckily Emerson hadn't gone far. He landed in the courtyard and I turned as I hit the gates, which had been closed.

I rebounded and almost immediately found myself gripping to Emerson's back as he roared mightily, swinging his neck around to bite at an Urgal that was trying to grab my ankle. He then pushed off the ground and took advantage of his tremendous speed. He was headed straight up, obviously aiming for cloud cover. I probably should have been looking around to see if Murtagh and Thorn were following us, but I was more concentrated on holding onto Emerson's spikes so as to not fall off.

_What did he want?_ Before I could sensor them, the entire memory played at high speed for Emerson's viewing pleasure, and I felt Emerson tremble with anger beneath me, _**AND THAT'S THE MAN YOU DEEM WORTHY OF YOUR AFFECTIONS?!**_

If I wasn't horrified and trembling after coming off that adrenaline rush, I would've realized how strangely that was worded. Instead, in spite of everything he'd done to me, I jumped to Murtagh's defense, _That… that wasn't the Murtagh I know; that was a demon in Murtagh's body. I mean, he can't be calm and cool and composed all the time, can he?_

Emerson was seething with anger to the point that I could almost see it pouring out of him, _You're trying to tell me that you still have feelings for that sack of sheep dung?!_

I shook my head, swallowing and continuing to cling to the safety of Emerson's back as he lengthened himself to gain more speed, _No, no; I'm saying that wasn't the him that I liked. I couldn't ever like that._

Emerson snorted, the smoke dissipating into the clouds just below us, _I could have told you that was there; he was never exactly a loving person._ As much as I wanted to defend Murtagh, I dropped the topic; there were more important things, and Murtagh was decidedly a part of my past now.

_What's your plan?_

_We're heading in a straight line; I can build up the most speed possible and they'll be checking everywhere anyway; really, a straight line is the least predictable path we could take._ I nodded, trusting that in the end Emerson knew where he was going; he'd been thinking about escaping since before we were even taken prisoner officially. And it looks like he was right to be suspicious; in the end, my trust is what got us into trouble.

* * *

"Which way did she go?" Murtagh cried as he burst out of the stone room, a room he hadn't dared enter in years before this. The entirety of his Urgal force had gathered in his front courtyard and the general was giving directions as he waited for the gate to be opened. Feeling ultimately panicked, Murtagh started for the front courtyard but, changing his mind at the last minute, skidded into the back courtyard to find his dragon stretching lazily in the sun. _Do you know which way she went?_

Thorn nodded, stretching his mouth wide in a yawn and looking like a cat mid cat-nap, _Yes, I do; why, do you want to go look for her?_

"YES!" Murtagh was indeed so panicked that he was willing to talk to his dragon verbally, if only that would make it clear that he needed to go and bring her back.

_I suppose you need her back so badly because Galbatorix would punish us severely if we were to lose her._

"NO!" Murtagh quickly cursed himself; this was why he never spoke aloud to Thorn. Things started to pour out and he couldn't stop himself from saying the first thing that came to mind.

Thorn's attention peaked as he opened a single ruby colored eye to observe his Rider knowingly, _Why else would we go looking for her?_

_Because…_ Murtagh paused, glancing uncomfortably around as if one of the rallying Urgals could hear his thoughts, _Because I care for her and I don't want her to leave._ Thorn was up and prepared to leave so quickly that Murtagh knew he had never actually been napping. Without questioning his dragon's motives, and feeling strangely light now that he'd admitted that he actually cared about Liaden, Murtagh pulled himself onto his dragons back and held on as his dragon took off, flying confidently upwards. Murtagh was generally displeased with where they were heading: due East, into nothing but desert. _You're sure this is where they went?_

_Yes; I can smell Emerson puffing smoke whenever he gets excited._

* * *

I sighed as I leaned back against Emerson, not nearly as relaxed as I had been earlier today. Now I was a fugitive, and I was completely unaware of how strong and fast the King's forces really were. Every time the wind shifted, I kept expecting the new breeze to bring a different assassin or bounty hunter. But Emerson was on high alert, and he couldn't see or hear anything coming for us.

Of course, that never stopped a certain red dragon from crashing in on us before; and I screamed as the sand flew over me. Desperate, I grabbed a hold of Emerson's spikes as he began to rise into the air, but there was an opposite pull around my waist, "Liaden, wait, please!" I could feel Emerson as he turned to snap and Murtagh, but Emerson missed and was easily pinned by his ex-teacher.

A wrestling match quickly ensued, which understandably resulted in my losing my grip on Emerson's spikes and being pulled away from Emerson by a very annoying Murtagh; I struggled against him valiantly, but fighting Murtagh physically was just as pointless as fighting him with magic, and it didn't take long at all until he had me pinned, my dragon receiving much of the same treatment just a few yards away.

"Murtagh, let go of me!" I considered spitting in his face, but I choose life over defiance.

"No, not until you listen to me! I'm **sorry**, Liaden. I… I lost my temper with you back there and for that I'm sorry." I was shocked into silence at having heard Murtagh apologize to me for the first time. His face was a plethora of delightful, beautiful emotions, mostly annoyance. He turned to glare at Thorn, but his gaze softened completely when he looked back at me, "And… and I don't want you to leave; I want you to stay with me, even if you are a spy for the Varden."

Even if Murtagh wasn't pinning me down, his words would have made me stop and look at him. I was a spy for the Varden? "Have you been listening to anything I've told you?"

Murtagh shook his head, "I know you were lying, Liaden, but I just don't **care** anymore; I… I don't want you to leave. I can't let you leave me."

"I'm not a spy for the Varden, Murtagh!" Again, Murtagh shook his head, his dark hair falling and providing a half-sized curtain around the two of our heads. "My God, Murtagh, don't you trust me?"

"No… yes… just please don't leave." My stomach churned as Murtagh's eyes started to shine. It very well could have been my imagination, but… but my Lord Murtagh honestly wants me to stay with him. My heart started to flutter, and I couldn't fight the realization that I wanted to stay with him too. I didn't know what was going on in the war; Emerson's going to be pissed, but I'm going back.

* * *

_I hear a voice say, "Don't be so blind!"  
__It's telling me all the things that you would probably hide  
__Am I your one and only desire?  
__Am I the reason you breathe or am I the reason you cry?  
__Always, always, always, I just can't live without you!  
__I love you, I hate you, I can't get around you  
__I breathe you, I taste you, I just can't live without you  
__I just can't take anymore, this life of solitude  
__I guess then I'm out the door and now I'm done with you  
__I feel like you don't want me around  
__I guess I'll pack all my things, I guess I'll see you around  
__It's all been bottled up until now  
_…  
_I see the blood all over your hands  
__Does it make you feel like more of a man?  
__Was it all just a part of your plan?_

Always by Saliva

The last part of that is going to end up getting reused, FYI. This song is just so intensely Murtagh and Liaden at this moment.


	16. I Don't Mind Where You Come From

**Fun Fact: **Garrett, Liaden's kind-of boyfriend on earth, is named after Garrett Hedlund, who plays Murtagh in the movies. Moreover, I based Garrett lookwise on how the real Garrett looks in real life - Murtagh with blonde hair. While I did this mostly as a tribute to Garrett, I also thought it would make sense for Garrett (in the story) and Murtagh to have something in common so there would be at least a little bit of a jumping off point for Liaden's crush, even if she doesn't realize it.

* * *

Even after everything that had happened, all that I could concentrate on was how Murtagh was holding my hand and leading me towards wherever he decided that he wanted to talk. The huge argument that I'd gotten into with Emerson on the ride back, how horrified I was of Murtagh despite the physical attraction I felt for him, how he'd sounded slightly desperate when he said he wanted me to come back, it all took a back seat to the present gentle touch as Murtagh held onto my hand, even if he knew that I was following. No pulling, just holding.

At first, I thought we were headed for Murtagh's bedroom to have our talk, and I grimaced as I heard Emerson's tail thrash at the passing thought in the courtyard. He was staying, for my sake, but he was not at all happy about it. He would've just flown away originally but, apparently still not trusting me or my connection with my dragon, Murtagh pulled me onto Thorn and had started home before I even thought to protest.

To my surprise, instead of the bedroom, we instead walked one door passed it and then turned into Murtagh's private study. I hadn't been in here in… I don't know how long, but even when I'd been in here I hadn't looked around much. I remember being shocked at Murtagh's semi-naked body, and then yelling about being taken away from Emerson. The room's motif seemed to be dark red wood and a fire place. The room was cramped, and every bit of wall space was taken up with books and bookshelves.

Sighing, the door slammed shut, no doubt a bit of magic from Murtagh, and Murtagh turned, not bothering to look me in the eyes but instead staring at the wrist he held on his hand. He muttered the semi-familiar healing spell, and a soft red glowed around my wrist as the bruises faded away. Even after the glow had moved to the wrist, healing it before fading away itself, Murtagh held my right wrist in his hand. I wasn't quite sure how to react, especially since he wasn't even looking at me, but I thought it might be best to check how Emerson's doing with the calming down.

I started to reach out, recoiling as I hit an unfamiliar wall; almost exactly like Murtagh's, only distinctly not human. There was no aura around it; I had no idea whose it was. Moreover, it completely surrounded me. For the first time, I couldn't find any other mind to tap into, nothing else in the world except Murtagh. It was lonely, but also very… intimate. It was like it was meant to be for Murtagh and me to have a heart to heart.

"Liaden…" Murtagh's voice trailed off with an annoyed sigh, "I… I don't know what I can say to…"

His voice trailed off, but the circumstances were drastic enough that I could tell what he wanted to say; at least, I could imagine. My voice was cold, even if I was still letting him hold my wrist, his thumb starting to carefully caress it. "An explanation is in definite order." I could've added that if I didn't like what I heard I would be out of this castle so fast helmets would spin, but I didn't. What are the chances of that getting me anywhere?

Outwardly, it didn't look as if Murtagh had been affected by my blatant honesty or the slight hostility in my voice. His eyes remained transfixed on my right wrist, which he slowly started to bend upwards. I had no idea what he was going to do with it, nor did I care since the moment it bent a slight pain ran through my body and I cringed. Murtagh caught the movement and dropped the wrist.

"I need to hear your explanation first, I think," Murtagh responded, still not meeting my eyes as he turned towards the one chair in the study, "I need to know whether or not you're a Varden before I tell you anything about myself."

"Why?" I was quickly starting to feel offended, angry, and scared again. I knew Murtagh wanted me to sit, and that this conversation would require my sitting somewhere, most likely on the desk, but I couldn't. If I have to run, I want to be standing next to the door and ready. "You're the one who threw me into the wall."

Murtagh's dark eyes narrowed naturally, his mouth pursing at the reminder of his earlier actions. Not that he could have forgotten, but still. "I need to be sure of where your allegiances lie before I start to tell you about the kingdom and the war in detail."

"I'm not with the Varden, Murtagh," I glared back at him, still not comfortable sitting, "I don't know how many times I've told you that I don't know anything about the war or the Varden."

Murtagh's sigh bordered at the edge of being a snort, still refusing to actually meet my eyes in any way. I wasn't sure whether to be comforted by this action, suspicious, or hurt. All three seemed plausible enough. "I… I had a dream that you were with the Varden," Murtagh finally admitted, much more quiet than he had been since I'd first known him. I thought this quietness was due to the fact that Murtagh was ashamed for basing so much off of things that were **just a dream.**

My voice was harsh, possibly unnecessarily so, "You thought I was a traitor because of a dream?"

Murtagh shook his head, "Rider's don't have **just dreams,** Liaden. At least, any dream that they can remember clearly isn't actually a dream. They're more a glimpse through time and space, usually. To anywhere, to see anything. And I saw you, with a Varden leader, talking."

"I can solemnly promise you, Murtagh, that I've never knowingly met a leader of the Varden in my life," I offered, hoping that explanation would suffice for our heart to heart. I mean, I'm about ninety-nine percent certain that it won't, but I can dream, right? "I don't know how many more ways I can say it; I was never outside of New York before now."

"Then how did you manage to find your way to my castle so quickly? Why my castle, out of everywhere you could have gone? Couldn't you have simply stayed in New York and out of the war? How is it possible that you're living in the one place in the country that is not touched by war?"

I sighed; I knew this was going to happen. I just wish Emerson was here so I could talk to him about it, first. Emerson isn't going to be any kind of happy with my decision, but what choice do I have? I have an angry Dragon Rider nearly jumping down my throat he has so many questions for me, and I can't be sure what will happen if I don't answer them all. A lie that would pacify Murtagh would be so elaborate it would be nearly impossible to keep track of, especially considering I still didn't know very much about the war or Alagaësia.

Murtagh sighed, "You don't need to tell me; I've found your hometown."

My heart skipped a beat, "What?" How did he find New York?!

"On an old map of Du Weldenvarden, I found your town." Oh… shit. This could be bad, or very good. "Nyrta Yrkja, that sound familiar to you?" And… he's completely off. And I thought Alagaësia was somehow once a part of Earth. Apparently I'm the ridiculous one.

"No, it doesn't, Murtagh."

"You grew up with the elves, probably, and when they stole Emerson's egg he transported it to you and they forced his growth, didn't they?" I never thought he could be so invested in a theory that could be so totally wrong. "Then they sent you here."

"Murtagh, I've never met an elf in my entire life." Murtagh's knuckles clenched, and so I quickly sat on the desk and started to explain my story as vaguely as possible, "I come from a place called New York, which is a completely separate world from this one; there are no dragons or magic or anything."

If there was one moment in my entire time in Alagaësia that I wanted to photograph, it would be Murtagh's face at that moment. He looked so confused and hurt and pissed off at my lying to him, all at once in some sickly gorgeous combination. It would have been perfect, especially if he knew that I wasn't lying. It feels good, to turn Murtagh's world upside-down, like getting him to show emotions, only I'm more in control.

"Emerson's egg just blasted out of nowhere while I was riding, and I just knew I couldn't leave it there. I didn't even think it was an egg, I thought it was a stone or a jewel. And then I was sitting with my friends and Emerson hatched. We all freaked out and ran to our horses, but Emerson started crying and I felt bad so I let him touch me, and the next thing I knew I was here, in the desert. I was only a awake for a few seconds before Emerson stole some more of my energy to force his growth."

"And how did he know how to do that?" Murtagh was obviously skeptical, and as ridiculous as it sounds I couldn't blame him. Sure, he was skeptical of my entire life previous to my recent finding of a dragon, but then again I was skeptical of the fact that I actually had a dragon, so go figure.

"He claims he was exposed to dark magic when he was in his egg and that being exposed to such dark magic morphed him so that he remembered some things, like how to force his growth." There, the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help me God of dragons. May Emerson fly away and leave me forever if I'm telling a lie."

Murtagh bit his lip and stared at me for what felt like a shortened, condensed eternity. I didn't want to risk getting lost in his eyes, less I start babbling about something else embarrassing, like how I lost my swim shorts at the third grade class pool party or how since getting here I've only stayed as long as I have because I'm so… so contented with Murtagh. Only more passionate than contented. There wasn't a word to describe how I felt when I was with him, nothing was powerful enough.

"I… I want to believe you, Liaden, I swear I do, because if you're telling the truth then everything makes much more sense but I just… I can't." Murtagh shook his head, "I mean… a completely separate world? I've never even heard of…" At that moment, Murtagh's deep purr of a voice trailed off and he stood quickly, his chair scraping. It was only when my neck snapped up that I realized just how craned my neck had been. Was that how Murtagh felt whenever he was talking to me?

The dark-haired Rider was searching a bookshelf in the back corner of the room, muttering words to himself as his fingers lightly traced the book titles until he found the one he was looking for. It was a grey, tattered thing with a title written in the Ancient Language. It's words were unfamiliar, given the flickering firelight and my sadly small vocabulary in the Ancient Language. But I didn't have to be a genius to figure out what Murtagh was looking at, even if being a genius would've helped. Probably something on old folklore in which a parallel universe was happening.

I shook my head, certain that even if I could describe that parallel world in perfect detail, Murtagh wouldn't be satisfied. Murtagh wasn't the bookworm type, that much I knew, and he was too paranoid not to believe that I hadn't just found that certain book and memorized it. Moved by either an urge to save time or because of some more primitive urge to make Murtagh believe what I'd said because of, well, me, I stood and walked over to him, mildly timid.

He didn't notice, though, thumbing through the pages full of an ancient language I couldn't hope to comprehend. Of course, once I got to Murtagh I had no idea what to do; I hadn't come over here with some spectacularly flawless plan, I came over here based on instinct alone. Instinct and a lack of Emerson to advise me to do anything better.

He continued to flip through pages at a furious rate and, an idea hitting me that sparkled with a momentary brilliance that marks all bad ideas, I grabbed his hand and jabbed up towards my temple, willing the memories into Murtagh before he could resist. They were selective memories; bicycles, the television, a fleeting memory of Garrett in PE class, and then the explosion of finding Emerson in the woods. Everything slightly slowed at that moment, by some internal controller, and then faded away, Murtagh's hand finding a reason to stay perched next to my temple.

When I finally opened my eyes, I was greeted by the intensity of the gray-brown stormy eyes that had come to easily capture me whenever he let me stare at them long enough. And in that moment, there was an almost tangible connection between us, painfully obvious and aching. I stood there, unable to figure out what else to do, slightly trembling and taking great comfort in that I still could run my tongue across my teeth.

I was expecting something big to happen to punctuate such a close moment, like a revelation from Murtagh own past, or something just as exciting. Anything just as excited, really. I knew he believed me; he had to after all that. I just showed him my life on a silver platter. There wasn't even a platter involved, really; just his hand and my temple. His hand which is still there, by the way. I kind of want him to either wrap it in my hair or cup my cheek or pull it away, because it's starting to drive me crazy.

Hoping in vain to force his movement, or his honesty, I stood on the balls of my feet and angled my head in an attempt to bring him to life. Of course, Murtagh makes everything as difficult as possible and instead suddenly turned and headed for his desk, "Erm, thank you for that, Liaden; you can go to bed now, if you want."

… WHAT?! **WHAT?! **I can go to bed now? I just told him the biggest secret I've ever kept in my entire life, I feel like there's a string somehow connecting us now, and I all of **EARNED THE RIGHT TO GO TO BED?!** "Mu… I…" I wasn't quite sure if I was hurt or pissed off. Mostly I was pissed off, I assume, but I just didn't know how to articulate it. "Murtagh, that's it?"

Of course, Murtagh had already settled at his desk and pulled out a worn, tattered-looking book. He straightened from hunching over it and glanced over the back of the chair at me, "What else do you want from me, Liaden?"

"Something! **Anything!**" For a second, Murtagh's mouth gasped like a fish out of water, and I was in absolute shock. Had his childhood been that deranged, that he didn't understand the give and take of information? Didn't he get that I just gave him everything, everything, that I had to give, and all he could do was tell me to go to bed, and that was the single most insulting thing he ever said to me? That, possibly combined with the remnants of fear left over from that afternoon, prompted my next few words, "I'm leaving."

"No, Liaden-" I wasn't sure how I got out the door so fast, but I beat Murtagh to it by a long shot. I think I was only so angry because I knew that Murtagh knew what I wanted; it may have been deep down and buried, but he knew something about social graces. He knew something about equality, and he just didn't think it was necessary. He didn't think he owed it to me. "Liaden, I'll tell you something, I'll tell you anything!"

By this time I was halfway down the upper hallway connecting to the other half of the castle, and in spite of every instinct that told me to run away before I could get more angered I turned; Emerson was asleep in the stable anyway, I could tell, so Murtagh would have caught up with me eventually. Mine as well make it on my terms. "Oh yeah? Tell me what?" I think I'm even more angry because now I **know** that he knew all along.

"Anything, what do you want to hear?"

"Tell me about your past, why you returned to the King." The request spilled out of my mouth before I could think to stop it, but it seemed the most fitting question, anyway. It was the last piece of the Murtagh puzzle, politically. Wouldn't it be fair for him to tell me that after I just told him that I'm an alien?

Immediately, Murtagh's jaw hardened, a stark contradiction to the slight earnestness that made up the rest of his face, "Liaden, I can't, you should know that, but I'll tell you anything else, **anything."** I shook my head, the corners of my mouth turned down in a freakishly-natural frown. So much for telling me anything. I had to get out of here; Emerson was right all along. I should have known Emerson was right all along. I turned on my heel, only a few steps away when I felt Murtagh's hand wrap roughly around my arm, "Liaden-" Whatever he meant to say he cut off by swinging me around to face him, pressing his lips to mine before I could start screaming.

* * *

Eragon sighed as he stood on the Western facing balcony, the only place he could conveniently slip to from his bedroom to the outdoors. Saphira arched her neck elegantly so that she could lay her head on the stone fence Eragon would usually be sitting on, his back pressed against the castle wall, but today he felt antsy. He felt like every bit of him was on fire. Most importantly, he was waiting to spring out the door and be at Arya's side the moment she got to the castle.

Even after months of denying Eragon's feelings for her, Eragon was not deterred. Whether or not she felt for him the way he felt for her was an insignificant matter to how he felt when she was around. _Please, Eragon, don't torture yourself like this; she's never going to give into you._

_But she likes me too; I know it._ His dragon huffed at the information, possibly thinking over her infatuation with Glaedr. That, too, had been an improbably romance with someone much too old, and looked how that had worked out. Eragon shook the thoughts from his head stubbornly; he should be thinking of battle strategy, anyway.

Currently, the Varden had set their sights on the coastal cities, hoping to eventually take the coast, push past the mountains, and come at Galbatorix from all sides. As Eragon stood there, watching as the morning sun cast sharp shadows on the landscape all around him, there were dozens of ships awaiting his specific command. Well, technically Nasuada was waiting for him to make his decision about what he thought should be done so that she could make her decision.

There was a light knock on the door, and Eragon fought every bone in his body to not run from the balcony and sprint to meet Arya; this particular trip to Du Weldenvarden had been the longest that he hadn't seen her since they'd met, and while he'd never imagined that a simple crush could evolve into such attachment, Eragon knew better than to follow his instincts. At least, not when it came to Arya; if he followed his instincts with her, he would have gotten himself into a lot of trouble by now.

The knocking person turned out to be Nasuada, more than just a mere person by Eragon's standards. She led the Varden, a task that seemed impossible to him. He bowed his head when he saw it was her, as was customary. She nodded back gracefully before joining him where he stood, standing and watching the sun set. "Have you given any more thought as to our situation on the coast?"

The 'situation' was whether or not to have the ships conquer towns from one end of Alagaësia to the other or to split the ships and have them work towards the center. Eragon had been mulling over the question for the past few days, and had only come up with this for his leader, "Well, the way I see it, if we keep the navy whole and work the coast from end to end, then we'll take the first few towns quicker but eventually run into Galbatorix's army and eventually we'll need to start leaving ships behind to defend the towns we've won. If we split the navy, though, we have more of a chance of losing at each town, but Galbatorix's army won't be able to get through and, if it's timed right, then they can bear down on his army from both sides in the center."

Nasuada nodded, probably hearing these arguments for the thousandth time, if not nearing millionth. Eragon could think of no single factor, though, that could give one strategy an advantage over the other; lose more ships but possibly have a greater chance of defeating Galbatorix, or stay stronger but face Galbatorix with less of an advantage and probably under more dire circumstances.

"I would personally recommend the splitting of the navy, if you think it's strong enough or large enough to be able to stand the being split. After all, depending on the size of the town, it may be possible that less ships means more maneuverability for the ships, in spite of less actual power." Nasuada nodded again, the customary reaction for an undecided leader, apparently.

A second knock on the door disturbed them both, and this time it was Roran who poked his head in to see his cousin, "Eragon? You might want to come see; Arya's returned, and she's a little sick."

Eragon nodded, feeling horrified as he always did when he saw his cousin, even if it meant Arya was there. Eragon had not found a time when he could safely go to Helgrind and save Katrina as of yet, only because Galbatorix's forces had surrounded it since her capture. _Arya,_ Eragon repeated her name to himself, _Concentrate on getting to see Arya._

* * *

_Well a strangled smile fell from your face  
__Oh it kills me that I hurt you this way  
__The worst part is that I didn't even know  
__Now there's a million reasons for you to go  
__But if you can find a reason to stay  
__I'll do whatever it takes to turn this around  
__I know what's at stake, I know that I've let you down  
__And if you give me a chance, believe that I can change  
__I'll keep us together, whatever it takes  
__She said, "If we're gonna make this work,  
__You've got to let me inside even though it hurts  
__Don't hide the broken parts that I need to see"  
__She said, "Like it or not, it's the way it's gotta be  
__You've got to love yourself if you can ever love me."  
_…  
_I know you deserve much better  
__But remember the time I told you the way that I felt?  
__That I'd be lost without you and never find myself?  
__Let's hold onto each other above everything else  
__Start over, start over, I'll do whatever it takes_

Whatever it Takes by Lifehouse


	17. You See Right Through Me

Alright, to make things clear for you guys, the beginning of this story starts around six months after Eldest.

Also, I would like to note that what you just saw of Saphira, Eragon and that whole gang will be all you will see for quite a few chapters. However, **they will be a part of the story.** I said this was also an E/A fic and it is, all this is just necessary. I swear, they're coming, and they'll be big.

**Full Title:** You see right through me cause you're running away

* * *

Everything about the next day was awkward. Waking up to Murtagh, going to the stables to have a talk with Emerson about staying, the way I couldn't bring myself to so much as talk to Murtagh, much less look at him, before I excused myself from lunch early to ponder alone in my room what had happened.

Technically, it's always easy to figure out what happened: Murtagh and I fought, he kissed me to keep me here, Emerson threw a fit and sent four Urgals flying through the castle's gates, and then I went to bed floating on a mini-cloud and figuring that everything would be sorted out in the morning by some magical process that I know nothing about because I'm not from this world.

Instead, I'm sitting across from Murtagh, trying to create a ball of light so I can read a book in the Ancient Language, and Murtagh is lounging on a rock and writing a letter. I get the distinct feeling this is busy work because he doesn't want to have any kind of interaction with me. Which actually pisses me off a lot; what, in his attempt to keep me here, he willingly lied to me and figured that if anything would keep me it was the promise of a relationship, but once he thought about it, he decided it was a bad idea? I don't even know what's going through his head!

In a desperate attempt to find out, I reached mentally forward with my mind and ran right into Murtagh's stereotypical, full-proof wall. I groaned with frustration as I fell back into the reddish-sand, inwardly declaring that the search was hopeless. "What do you think you're doing, Liaden?"

Ugh, I could kill him. "What did you think you were doing last night, **Murtagh?"** Ha! A straight-forward question. I'd like to see him try and not answer that question.

"Well, last night was a rather eventful night for me; I spent a few hours searching for you…"

I think he's the only man in the entire galaxy that could possibly answer my question and not actually answer it. He's the biggest contradiction to everything I've ever known. Does he really want me to come out and say exactly what I'm talking about? "The kiss, Murtagh," I border-line screamed at him, "What did you think you were doing when you kissed me."

"Well, a kiss would be defined as-" I swear, he wasn't this infuriating when I had a crush on him all of forty-eight hours ago.

"What did you **mean** by it?!" Alright, now that question is fool-proof. What did you mean when you kissed me. What kind of smart-ass answer could he come up with for that? He meant what people normally mean by kisses? That still answers my question.

"I wanted you to stay, I did what I thought I had to." Alright, now I kind of want to kill him. I mean, I know I couldn't, but I really, really want to. Murtagh and his shiny red sword and his cute little avoid-the-question-until-you-rip-out-my-heart answers, who needs him? If I thought I could get away with it, I'd already be on Emerson and running away again. I'm not scared to anymore; anything is better than here.

* * *

Emerson sighed as he curled his feet under him, watching his teacher carefully. After a few minutes of flying, Thorn had landed and seemed currently to be meditating on a particular subject. Hesitantly, Emerson reached his nose forward towards the red dragon, _Thorn?_

_I'm trying to decide, Emerson, whether I should tell you what I know or if I should just leave Murtagh and Liaden to figure themselves out. _Emerson knew what Thorn was talking about without having to even bother wondering: what would happen between Murtagh and Liaden now that they were completely alone, and more importantly what should happen. Emerson honestly felt like he was watching one of those horrid drama shows that Liaden used to watch with her friends back home.

_I am firmly against the relationship; based on what you have told me about the Empire, and what I've put together myself, I feel that Liaden and I should leave for Surda the moment the next opportunity arises._ Emerson and Thorn both knew that this feeling of hatred for the Empire was not a blatant remark about how Emerson also felt for Thorn; despite what Emerson had told Liaden, he enjoyed his times with his teacher. But he also couldn't forget what Thorn had showed Emerson about the empire purposefully. Both of them agreed in the need for the King's downfall.

_But couldn't they form a relationship without being on the same side? Maybe Murtagh will change his mind._

Emerson growled at his brief mental image of Murtagh and Liaden, laughing together and acting sweet like one of those couples on Liaden's TV shows. In spite of his imaginary contempt for Thorn, he felt very real anger and harbored genuine hate for the Lord Murtagh; there were things about Murtagh that Thorn refused to tell him, like why Murtagh was picked to be her teacher and Murtagh's actual feelings of the war. That, in combination with his very secretive personality and something else Emerson couldn't quite put his claws on, resulted in Emerson's very open dislike for the Rider. _Haven't you ever heard how those romances end?_ Of course, Emerson couldn't use his own dislike as a reason for why his own Rider shouldn't be happy in a relationship. _Besides, I highly doubt that Murtagh feels anything for Liaden at all._

Thorn huffed, smoke billowing out of his nostrils easily, _That is what I'm thinking about showing you; Liaden is open enough that I can generally tell what's going on in her mind, even if she did know how to block her mind while still talk to me._

Emerson straightened his neck is slight surprise, _You've read Liaden's mind while talking to her?_ This was quite contradictory to both of a dragon's moral thought process. Since the only way for a dragon to communicate was by invading a person's mind, Emerson was always under the impression that out of courtesy the invasion would be minimal, resulting in no sharing of actual memories.

_No, but her face is telling enough; it's Murtagh that's such a mystery. To you, that is._ It was Emerson's turn to snort gray-green smoke. Murtagh is a mystery; how surprising. _But I know Murtagh, and I feel that… I want my Rider to be happy, and that can't happen until you know._

As if that Yoda-esque thought was Thorn's final decision, a slow movie began to play for Emerson from Murtagh's viewpoint. He watched as Liaden stood in front of him nervously, admitting that she'd gotten nervous when he was in the tailor's room with her. Emotions flooded through him, and after that moment everything related to Liaden played at a fast-forward pace, leaving only one real emotion for Murtagh to sense and understand: caring. Murtagh had cared for Liaden.

Thorn easily skipped over the day when Murtagh had hated Liaden because she was a spy and refocused on how Murtagh was feeling after Liaden had left, and this feeling also struck Emerson: desperate. Desperate and caring and the slightest bit protective over her. Of course, there were some blacked-out moment when Murtagh was thinking something that Emerson wasn't allowed to know about, but in the end those moments weren't as disconcerting as the emotions Murtagh felt the rest of the time.

Emerson sighed as the memories faded after last night, a large black-out from the time the two of them were in the room together. While Thorn had explained to Emerson that Murtagh's private study had been endowed with permanent wards by Murtagh's mother as a defense for Morzan that made the memories formed there impossible to be shared, Emerson knew perfectly well that Liaden had confessed most, if not all, of her history to Murtagh in that time.

During the kiss, when the memory faded out, there was a sense of elation. Of comfort, of release, of infinite right-ness. It was inexplicable to both Murtagh and to Emerson, and left the green dragon with a sense of awe. It didn't change the fact that Emerson didn't like anything about Murtagh, but at least Emerson knew that Murtagh wasn't faking the feelings for Liaden just to keep her there. The realization was less comforting than it should've been, especially considering that when Emerson reached out towards Liaden to sense how she was doing, he felt her pain and knew instinctually that she'd been emotionally hurt.

* * *

My memories flashed for Emerson's viewing pleasure as I bent over completely in my saddle, my cheek pressed to his neck and my hands wrapped around the first spine at the base of his neck, _I mean, can you believe it?! I can't believe I came back here with him. You were right, he isn't worth the dust on the bottom of my boot. I mean, the nerve of it all. We're going to go tonight, Emerson, I promise._

I could feel my dragon's hesitance behind my suggestion before he voiced it, _That might not be such a good idea; they'll be expecting it tonight, Liaden, especially after Murtagh telling you what he did. But in all fairness…_ In spite of my protesting, Emerson landed on the ground, for the first time without the painful jolt that usually accompanied his landing, _Liaden, what would you have done if Murtagh had told you that he'd kissed you because he genuinely cared for you? Different than how I care for you, but, well, more like you'd wanted Garrett to._

I froze for a moment at the ponderings of my dragon, my shock hindering my ability to hide my reactions: happiness, excitement, the floating feeling that is completely normal when a girl finds out that her crush likes her too. Emerson nodded as my thoughts inadvertently transmitted to him via our connection, his neck bowing as I slid off his back.

_I see._ For a second there was more hesitation, and then Emerson gave me his suggestion, _They'll be expecting us to leave tonight; I suggest we wait for at least a week and build up their trust before we try another escape attempt._ Another week? Where was the Emerson I knew, the one who was willing to bite Thorn in the ass if it meant my possibly being able to get off of the red dragon last night? Where was that desperate feeling to get out of here and fight for the other side that I was suddenly all for? Was this even my Emerson? And why is that, of the three times I've wanted to leave, Emerson has squashed two of those attempts?

With a sad sigh, Emerson turned and left me standing in the small area between the castle and the stables, his head hanging low. A few moments later, Thorn landed dangerously close to my left, Murtagh's feet hitting the ground almost before Thorn's had. Their goodbye was wordless, but as opposed to following Emerson into the stables to sleep, or heading towards his own courtyard, the glittering red dragon stood next to me as his own Rider hurried into the castle.

Then, as if he knew exactly what was going on in my mind as a result of Murtagh's more-than-merely-cruel words, Thorn bent his neck to look me directly in the eye, _It will be alright, Lady Liaden. Please, don't leave him._

I watched in shocked amazement as Thorn then carefully trudged past me into the stable. What kind of dragon says THAT? I mean, that wasn't even wise, that was just… wrong. And he probably wouldn't even give me an explanation if I begged for it. But he's still going to expect me to listen to him and trust him, like I'd trusted Murtagh last night.

I groaned as I turned towards the castle, meaning to hide in bed for the next week – I essentially had to listen to him; apparently, I'm not going to be leaving for a while because I'm simply not trusted anymore. Really, who can blame me for running away last night? I was thrown into the wall by a magical hand controlled by a pissed off Dragon Rider with obvious anger management issues and so many personalities my head could start spinning. No one blamed Belle when she ran away from the Beast!

Then again the Beast saved her from wolves and then they had a tender moment and started to fall in love. Murtagh crashed into my campsite, forced me back here, used my own girlish desire for tender moments against me, and is now officially the biggest asshole I've ever met. He's like the beast, only because he's such a blind dumbass he'll never see that he could be human again.

Hold on, I take the last half of that back; I don't think I can forgive him for this, not fully. Not without something drastic, at least. So not only does Murtagh have to open his eyes to break the spell, but he has to grovel too.

* * *

Murtagh sighed as he laid in his bed, staring at his ceiling. The omnipresent guard was snoring in his chair against the wall and Murtagh wanted desperately to tell the Urgal to get out of his room and let him think. And Murtagh would have, if he thought it would help.

He didn't quite feel horrible for what he'd said to Liaden; at least, not in the stricter sense. If it were just what he'd said, he'd been sleeping right now since he, by nature, stood by his words. He'd thought what he said was pretty alright; he'd said that he wanted her to stay, he just wasn't specific as to why he wanted her to stay.

Murtagh himself couldn't deny why he wanted her to stay, since it seemed to him now that the truth had been admitted it was nearly bubbling out of him, but he knew it was better for the both of them that she didn't know. Having spent a bit of time inside her head, he was quite certain that she would want to pursue these feelings and possibly end it with some sort of long-term commitment. And long-term commitment was not something either of them could afford, especially if he was going to turn her to Galbatorix's side.

Nonetheless, the tiniest bit of him wanted to, just to see; he had no idea what it was like to be courting a girl, but he couldn't imagine that it was too horribly different from what they were doing now. He and Liaden spent most of their time together, every meal, and had time to themselves every night during their lessons. So what would be the change? What was courting actually like?

Murtagh shook his ponderings out of his head, declaring them pointless and fruitless. Well, not fruitless; Liaden could very well agree to it. At least, she would have before the lesson tonight. Maybe. Murtagh groaned, running his hands through his hair awkwardly and letting his legs tense and relax wildly. What if she would have? What if she showcases her brilliant determination and tries again? And worse, what if he said yes?

* * *

I was fighting against the pull of whatever natural gravity was keeping me at a standstill in front of the large projector screen, forcing me to watch the pictures come into a sharp, painful focus. I knew I was dreaming, but I still wanted to wake up and make sure Emerson was alright. I didn't give a shit about Murtagh, even if he had been wrestling a dragon before the dream had shifted. Wrestling a dragon for me, no less. I don't care; I want to see Emerson.

The images were recycling themselves, stuck on a constant loop. The woman, the man dying on the steps. I screamed into the oblivion, trying to force the image to break into a thousand pieces. It's my dream, isn't it? Shouldn't I be able to control it?

The dark figures overlooking the lake flashed and I tried desperately to see who they were. This certain image was the most confusing, even if the one with the dead man was the… most worrisome. I had to remember to ask Murtagh who that man was, why he'd been killed, and most importantly why he was haunting my dreams.

I kicked in midair, still trying to break the picture or wake myself up. "NO!"

* * *

"Liaden, Liaden, shh," Murtagh's deep voice permeated into my brain, waking me up slowly and gently. I would have relaxed, and probably forgotten why I was freaking out in the first place, if my natural instinct at that moment was to smack Murtagh in the face.

For a second, as I realized what had happened and who I was with, I laid in bed, my eyes open and trying to decide what to start screaming at him first. "GET OUT!" Seriously, there's nothing alright with him still waking me up; I don't want him in my bedroom ever or, when I'm not in my bedroom, within a few feet of me.

"Liaden," Murtagh stuttered, "Liaden, I'm waking you up for breakfast; you have to get up."

What Murtagh doesn't know is that before I got up so I could get to Emerson, and then I woke up so I could see Murtagh; now I have no reason and I'm no longer a morning person. No bacon and eggs, no sausage or biscuits; just sleeping 'til noon. "I'm not going to breakfast anymore, Murtagh! And you're not waking me up – no one is going to wake me up!"

_You might want to calm down, child, before you say something you'll regret._

I shook my head in response to my dragon's advice, _I won't ever regret this._ "So get out of my room and stop interfering with my life!"

_You might regret that later, when he's giving you your lesson._ I bit my lip as Murtagh, his face as unreadable as it had been when I first got there, stood and turned, the armor he was always wearing clinking lightly as he took three long strides and slammed my door behind him. I flinched as the obnoxious sound filled my room before rolling onto my side grumpily.

_Maybe he'll just leave me be during my lessons,_ I retorted, cuddling into my pillow and deciding to sleep in spite of the fact that I felt more awake than I usually do when I have a reason to get up, _Maybe he won't even make me go; you and Thorn can fly around and fight while I star-gaze or practice flying._ I closed my eyes, trying to sleep before an intense longing flooded through me, familiar but foreign. _What's wrong, Emerson?_

_I just wish I could…_ the thought broke off, leaving me feeling awkward and a little scared, _Nothing, nothing at all. Have a nice time sleeping in._ I shook my head into the pillow, snuggling into its warmth and smiling. I haven't slept in in… ages.

* * *

I groaned as I rolled around in my bed; how is it that in my three hours I've spent in bed, I have been able to sleep for a total of maybe twenty minutes? Don't ask how I know three hours; I've been listening to the goings ons around me much too closely. I wonder if I'm sick. That'd be irony; I'm sick so I **can't** sleep and am **not** tired. But if I'm sick I'm also not allowed to go to a lesson tonight.

Out of what seemed like nowhere, a deep roar echoed through the castle. I jumped literally out of bed, managing to barely land on my feet thanks to my awesome Dragon Rider reflexes. My mind shot to Emerson, _You alright?_

_It was Thorn; we might want to consider leaving._ I nodded, straightening and starting towards the door. Before I could get across the room, though, Murtagh was in my door, visibly shaken and almost alarmed. His eyes were wide, a little scared, and very horrifying for me. What could he be scared of? And, nearly as important but somehow not as disconcerting as it should have been, did it mean that he suddenly didn't trust me again?

"What, Murtagh?" I backed away slowly, my hands grasping for anything to defend myself with. His eyes widened impossibly before focusing back on me, as if he could see the way my heart was beating faster with fear and anticipation of attack. But then… then the aggressiveness about him receded and he just looked scared. I shouldn't have, but I softened, "Are you alright?"

Murtagh's eyes focused and refocused, looking odd in the flickering firelight. I gulped, still halfheartedly looking for something to defend myself with. "I… Thorn…" He flinched, and for a moment Murtagh's mind almost threw an image at me before retracting fearfully. "Aw, hell…"

Murtagh took a few large steps towards me, resulting in his arms wrapping around me and his intentions horrifyingly clear. He was going to kiss me again.

Somehow, my mind won out over my body and, more miraculously, I was able to stave off Murtagh long enough to say no. And not just say no, but shriek it painfully into his head. Murtagh paused, his head a few awkwardly maddening inches away from mine, "I lied, alright Liaden? I… I didn't tell you everything last night, alright?"

"Wha- get off!" Of course, it wasn't like Murtagh was wrestling with me. No, my hands were pushed very firmly against his chest, which would've done nothing if Murtagh was actually intent on just kissing me.

"Liaden, please, I…" Murtagh's breath blew out, smacking me in the face and letting the minty smell almost seriously assault me. "I want to keep you here for myself because I don't want to have to not see you… every day… for three meals and little random other bits of time."

I felt physically ill at what Murtagh was saying and strangely empty since at some point Emerson had literally left me. "Wh… Huh?"

"I'm not alright with you leaving at all in the foreseeable future."

_Why he is he using such big words?!_ "I…" None of this seemed… like Murtagh. I'm slowly starting to believe that Thorn took over his body for fun. Cruel, angry dragon fun. "Wha-who?" I'll attribute that little wanna-be question to the fact that way too many questions are flooding my entire being right now to ask just one.

"I want to do this," Murtagh all but shouted in my face before leaning down and melding his lips into my own. This time, I had absolutely no choice in the matter – both mind and body threw itself completely into the kiss, resulting in quite a few reactions I'd hoped were out of my system after the last kiss.

Apparently not.

* * *

_I know I'm not the best for you but promise that you'll stay  
__Cause if I watch you go, you'll see me wasting, you'll see me wasting away  
__Cause today you walked out of my life; cause today your words cut like a knife  
__I'm not living this life  
__Goodbyes are meant for lonely people standing in the rain  
__And no matter where I go it's always pouring all the same  
__These streets are filled with memories, both perfecta and in pain  
__And all I wanna do is love you, but I'm the only one to blame_

Like a Knife by Secondhand Serenade


	18. Drowning in You

No excuse I can offer will make up for my missing last week.

If it helps, I was getting my wisdom teeth out and have spent the time since madly trying to make up the work I missed while out with sickness and surgery.

Hope this chapter helps to satisfy everyone - you all have given me such lovely comments I feel endebted.

And I just came my philosophy class and am typing in the style of the teacher. Go figure.

* * *

Murtagh's lips were still firmly pressed into mine as my mind regained full control of my body and I remembered all the reasons this was all wrong. This is, after all, Murtagh. He's a bit of a jackass with more problems than I'd care to think about, and I'm not from this world. I'm not staying forever with him, so really none of this has any point. I'm pulling away. **Right now…**

I gave myself a few more minutes to literally melt into him before pulling away, breathless and spinning around in my head. My thoughts, though clear, weren't exactly straight in that they were all contradicting and I think I'm lying to myself. I don't want this to happen, but I do. This can't happen, but it is. I don't know anything about Murtagh, not really. His dragon's name is Thorn and he apparently is all for the Empire and he has trust issues like you wouldn't believe along with a violent temper that he's not scared to give in to.

I also know that even if I were a rebel spy there is a reason that he's keeping me around, and if I'm gullible and naïve enough I might even believe that it's because he genuinely likes me. And that when he hears a sandstorm at least one of his first instincts is to make sure I'm not out on the balcony.

"Do you even do relationships," I questioned, my eyes still closed and my head shaking a little. I'm not going to kid myself into thinking I can look at him; he's got me too wrapped up with his smell and his breath and his touch to risk losing another one of my senses to him. One more sense and I'll be on Murtagh-sensory overload and then I don't know what I'll do.

His arms were still wrapped around my waist, one hand dropping dangerously low towards my hips. My hands were fairly platonic, I guess; pushed against his chest is either platonic or rebelling against this love. Not love. Wrong word.

Murtagh's snort, which blew more deliciously minty air into my face, brought me out of my horrified denial of everything I'd accidently let enter my mind, "That's not _exactly_ how things are done around here."

"Well, too bad; that's how I do things." And that's **if** I even want to do this. I'm not even sure I want to still be considering it; that's just how ridiculous this whole place is.

"Well I just don't understand the way you do things," came his automatic response. Damn it, Murtagh. Why is he playing dumb? I've made it very clear that I have total ditzy-rights in this relationship. This non-existent relationship. Whatever, I'm not from this world!

"Well how do you do things around here?"

"Pretty much the same," Murtagh laughed in my face then, which generally shocked me into opening my eyes. Not just because of his minty breath, but because of how strange and crazy it was for Murtagh to be openly laughing. The Murtagh I knew when I first got here, ions ago, had his lips permanently cemented into a disapproving frown. Now he's laughing as his own jokes. It's like watching a flower bloom. "Except there's more of a focus on honor and marriage and less of a focus on the physical stuff, which I think is what your relationship would've focused on."

"Oh really?" He makes me sound like such a bad girl; like I'm a sex addict, or something.

Of course, I did nothing to help this reputation when I smirked devilishly, almost as if my body were acting without even bothering to consult my brain. I think it has to do with the Murtagh sensory overload. "Oh really?" I stood on tiptoes then, placing a slow kiss on his lips and running my hands up his chest and into his shaggy black hair.

Murtagh made a noise of pleasant surprise before smiling into the kiss and tightening his arms around me. Through the kissing, he muttered something about coming round to my way of doing things when I suddenly felt the urge to pull away, mysterious though it was.

"I could love you."

…

Oh. My. God.

That wasn't supposed to come out. That wasn't an even articulated thought! That was words that have nothing to do with me or my feelings coming tumbling out of my mouth in the wrong order!

I stood there, gaping like a fish at my confession as Murtagh's smile dropped from his face. He didn't look angry or horrified, but I'm waiting for him to run away screaming. I once talked about loving a **book** to Garrett and he ran away like a dog with his tail between his legs. Imagine what Murtagh will do, with his trust issues and probable lack of any other female relations.

"I could love you too."

And just like that, Murtagh and I were together. I was doubting this togetherness like nothing else I'd ever done, but it didn't feel like something I could fight. It felt **right.** Right like how I was meant to be with Emerson, or right like the feeling between Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth. Cosmically right, like even though I could never imagine it and I'd fought it with all the logic I could muster in a world with dragons, it was still happening. And more importantly it happening was absolutely perfect.

With a dangerous smile, Murtagh leaned back in for one final kiss before my stomach rumbled and Murtagh let his head fall back and laugh at me. "Hungry, m'lady?"

I blushed for lack of better action as he took my hand, leading me out the door and turning towards the dining room without another word. Carefully, Emerson slipped back into my mind, _Did everything go well?_

I sucked at my teeth as I continued blushing at the awed looks on the Urgals' faces, _Yeah, everything went great. You're going to kill me._

I stopped suddenly as, for the first time since Murtagh barged into my room, I thought about dragons. "Hey, Murtagh," I questioned, pulling him back with my hand that he was still holding.

I had to physically dig my heels into the ground to stop him, he was so excited about going to lunch. Or, you know, other things. And I'm excited too, but I'm also myself and I just have to know. "Why was Thorn going crazy earlier?"

Murtagh snorted at the thought as, like a rubber band, he rebound back from my pulling and stopped much too close. I was Murtagh overload all over again and I'd only just recovered from my last episode. All minty and gorgeous with his gray-brown eyes all wide and shining with happiness. How can I not mentally delve into taking note of everything about him?

"He, um, he was rather angry with me for not… for not telling you everything. It took a bit of threatening to get me into your room." My first reaction was to reach out and thank Thorn, but I quickly heard the rest of what he said and found it the slightest bit odd.

"You had to be threatened into my room?"

"I was nervous, Liaden," Murtagh reached forward with a slight tentativeness, taking my other hand and running his calloused thumb over the back of it. The sensation of his thumb on my hand resulted in a fair amount of tingling and mindless mental squealing. "You kind of tried to bite my head off the last time I'd been into your room, and I was fairly convinced you wouldn't have me."

"So you let the fear of rejection keep you away from me?" Now I'm just teasing. It's fun to watch him try and smooth everything over. I almost can't wait until our first big fight. Simply for the effect, I stuck my lip out into a pout. I swear, I never knew relationships were this fun, probably because my relationship with Garrett had never been this amusing.

"I…" Murtagh trailed off before realizing I wasn't serious. He sighed in mock annoyance before turning, continuing to drag me and force lunch down my throat.

Yeah, I'm still doubting this, but god this is the best thing I've ever doubted.

* * *

Murtagh cleared his throat as he sat next to Thorn on the dark beach next to the lake, his eyes glued to Liaden as she clutched to Emerson's back, trying to adapt to his quicker turns and more daring stunts. Murtagh could feel her enjoyment, her happiness radiating from her; she was completely content here with them. It disturbed him a little, even as it warmed him inexplicably.

Thorn poked his nose towards his Rider in spite of the fact that he was supposed to be watching Emerson, critiquing him and thinking of things to be working on. Instead, he spoke to his Rider, his curiosity seemingly gentle and nonchalant as he concentrated on hiding the slight excitement and pleasure he took in knowing his Rider was happy. _You are happy, aren't you?_

Murtagh sighed, shaking his dark hair out of his eyes as he tensed his calves watching her scream with the joy of flying, something she'd slowly become accustomed to. _Yes, I'm happy; happy and worried._

If Thorn had thought Murtagh wouldn't respond with an inordinate amount of unpleasantness, he would have tsked at his Rider. The bond that they shared meant that Thorn knew exactly what Murtagh was worrying about.. The bond and the fact that Thorn simply knew Murtagh about as well as the Rider knew himself. _You shouldn't worry about that, Murtagh. We could leave, you know. _

Murtagh shook his head, still thoughtfully watching as Emerson turned sharply over the middle of the lake, diving and dipping his claws in the water before pulling back up at an uncomfortably steep angle. _He wants her, Thorn; he's planning an offensive attack on the border of Surda and he wants her to fight for him._ His head falling for a second, hanging between his bent up knees, Murtagh continued to tense his legs as he thought of the idea at her flying.

Thorn nodded; he'd been at the meeting the same as Murtagh. Thorn also understood that the more Murtagh said, and not to Liaden, the less he felt like he had to tell Liaden. And not just tell Liaden, but tell her **everything.** About how it had been their job to convert her to the Empire's side. About how in spite of the fact that this was their job, and they continued to report to Galbatorix whenever he requested an audience to discuss her progress, Galbatorix was quite possibly the worst thing to happen to Alagaësia and while the rebels weren't perfect, they were better. Anything was better than what Galbatorix would put her through.

This was exactly the kind of confliction that Murtagh had hoped to avoid by avoiding Liaden and all relationships with her. Obviously, it simply hadn't worked, and now Murtagh was caught. He couldn't think of any way to get out of the things they'd promised to Galbatorix, so they were stuck with him, but he couldn't bear what his King would do to Thorn if they let Liaden leave. So she was stuck with them, as far was Murtagh was concerned.

Only he had to get her away; he felt this overwhelming urge to protect her.

_She's not a soldier, Thorn,_ Murtagh shook his head at her as she whooped again, her red hair making a dark blaze in the sky as it whipped around behind her. Murtagh had told her to tie it back for her safety, but when had she ever listened to him? _She just doesn't have it in her._

Thorn nodded silently along with his Rider's worries, quite aware of every consequence of every action that ran through Murtagh's mind. Murtagh contrastingly shook his head at everything he thought about, wondering how Liaden managed to be so contented with him. Even if he sent her to the Varden, if he told her to go and told her how to find them, there was still a chance she wouldn't go. A small chance, in Murtagh's mind, but a chance nonetheless. She seemed so happy with them Murtagh couldn't imagine she felt the itching need to leave him.

_Emerson would take her,_ Murtagh reassured himself, even more horrified at the idea that she wouldn't want to leave than he was at the fact that he didn't want her to leave. No matter what she did, Murtagh couldn't image ever wanting her gone. Not as long as she kept smiling, kept distracting him from the war that had made up his childhood and now his adulthood as well. As long as she was completely willing to ignore the world outside, he'd want her around.

_Liaden, be careful,_ Murtagh half-shouted in his head. He wasn't sure how many times he'd told her to keep her hands on Emerson's back while he was rolling. Did she want to fall and die? _You have to keep your hands on his back at all times. You're not fighting – focus on his moving._

_Murtagh,_ she chided, her tone smug with knowledge, _I've been riding since I was a kid. The last thing I need to do is concentrate on how to stay on._ With that, Emerson flipped forward low over the water at Thorn's request. Liaden flipped around on his back, still whooping into the air. If he wasn't horrified at images of her falling through into the water, Murtagh would have smiled at her joy.

Emerson rolled again, this time tucking his wings in closer to his body at Thorn's request. Murtagh's stomach contracted as he watched in slow motion as, for a second after he'd straightened himself out, she kept her balance sitting up before somehow being hurled sideways, her body flailing as it fell the twenty yards into the lake.

Murtagh was up and on Thorn's back as Emerson tucked his wings into a dive in the water. _Liaden, don't move! We're coming,_ Murtagh's mental voice screamed, trying desperately to keep her tied to life as the pain coursed momentarily into everyone's head. It was stinging, like a belly flop multiplied by twenty.

Emerson dove into the water without much thought. Simultaneously Thorn was speeding, so close to the water and flying so fast that the wind they were creating forced the water away in giant waves. Those giant waves made Murtagh nervous, thinking of Liaden under them, but he was more concerned with getting to her than her being comfortable while he got there.

Just as Murtagh and Thorn had prepared to dive and help Emerson search for her, the green dragon surfaced with the limp, wet, mostly unconscious Rider on his back. Murtagh could hear her coughing as Emerson stream-lined his body and flew as smoothly as possible towards land. Of course, typical of any barely mature dragon, Emerson landed too bumpy and Liaden slipped from his back, or would have if his tail hadn't whipped around for her to land on and slide off slowly.

As Thorn landed next to his pupil, who immediately launched into lecture that easily mixed concern with scolding. Emerson shivered, either because he hadn't been prepared for how cold the water would be or because he felt guilty and scared at having almost killed his Rider. _Of course,_ Murtagh reasoned privately as he slipped from his dragon's back and hurried towards Liaden, who was still making a show of coughing up water, _If she'd been holding on properly like I taught her to, she wouldn't have fallen at all. Only the Gods know why she's so antsy to act like she's in battle._

But Murtagh was also aware that a sixty foot plunge into icy lake water was more punishment than he could ever hope to administer, and rather than lecture he pulled her into his lap, pulling her hair out of her face as she collapsed against him. "Murtagh, I'm cold," she muttered after a few minutes, almost mindlessly. She was slowly starting to lose consciousness, something Murtagh was both grateful for and worried about. If she wasn't awake, she wouldn't feel the sting he could tell was still coursing through her body, but if she was asleep he'd have no idea what her condition **really** was.

"Shh, I know," Murtagh cooed, unsure of what else he could do to comfort her but wait for either recovery or unconsciousness. Quietly, hoping the pain wasn't internal, Murtagh whispered the words to heal her, taking the time to consider whether or not he should try to dry her. What would he think of that he knew the word for – fire? No, that would risk actually setting her on fire.

As if answering Murtagh's nonexistent prayers, Emerson curled his neck, his head hovering just over Liaden's body and creating an artificial area of warmth in the chilly desert night. Murtagh sighed almost instantly as the warmth flowed through her, her displeased frown soon replaced with a contented smile as she pushed her head further in Murtagh's lap, obviously taking comfort in both the warmth and his presence.

Murtagh wasn't sure which urge was stronger once he knew she was alright – to make her promise to never do it again or to utterly slaughter her for being so careless when he'd warned her so many times. Didn't the girl ever learn? Was her head actually filled with rocks, or did she actually think that it'd be nice to take a swim? Murtagh tried to shake the thoughts from his head, but his rage was strong as his desire to protect her. It wasn't a violent rage, but a rage nonetheless.

The darker haired Rider lost his sense of time as he sat there, watching and waiting for Liaden to be mostly dried of the lake water before taking her back to the castle. Everything seemed to pass so slowly due to a mixture of boredom and the 'watching the pot boil' syndrome which resulted in time all but standing still. Occasionally Liaden whined or flinched in her sleep, but almost always found comfort in shoving herself closer to Murtagh until she almost pushed him over by head butting him in the stomach.

Taking that as a sign of recovery, he scooped her up easily and threw her over Thorn's back in front of the saddle. Emerson tensed as he watched Murtagh do what he couldn't – picking her up and throwing her around. Begrudgingly, the green dragon noted the care in Murtagh's eyes, and gently extended his nose towards the Rider, _Thank you for taking care of her._

In spite of the fit of joy that Liaden would have insisted on having at hearing her dragon thank Murtagh, he himself could only manage a grunt of acknowledgement as he swung onto the red dragon's back. Thorn quickly reached in and touched Emerson's mind, playing the go between for the two stubborn males, _He thinks it's what he needs to do; it's his duty to her._

Emerson nodded as Thorn pushed off into the air, following his teacher and mentor and placing himself carefully underneath them, always keeping one eye on them to watch in case Liaden fell off. He found it increasingly unlikely, considering the more Emerson saw of Murtagh caring for Liaden, the more confident Emerson felt not in the Empire, but in Murtagh and Murtagh alone.

Upon reaching the stables, Emerson could feel Liaden's consciousness slowly resuming. Not enough for her to be ready to go flying or do anything tonight, but enough that if they gave her a few minutes she probably wouldn't need to be carried like a damsel in distress up to her room. She might limp a little, but she could walk.

* * *

The first thing I felt was a blinding headache, making my first official thought that it was ridiculous that healing spells could only close wounds and slightly soothe the area where the wound had been. Falling into a lake didn't include getting any gaping holes, just a lot of stinging and a bit of numbness in the legs and arms. It's like my entire body is on pins and needles, only they've all been sharpened to be more painful than Emerson's teeth.

I groaned, trying to turn around and find Murtagh. He was a good pillow, or at least that's what I remember before I passed out. Of course, I couldn't find him, "Murtagh?"

"Can you walk," came his voice, harsher than I remember it being before. I flinched at it, but the movement set my face on fire. Experimentally, I wiggled my ankle, considering his question simply because it gave me something to think about besides the blinding pain. It was, of course, a bit counterproductive that what I had to think about included the studying of the blinding pain, but at least there was a purpose.

My ankle stung, but seemed workable; the same for the muscles in the other ankle, both pairs of calves and thighs, and my knees were able to bend slightly. Making a split decision about which would be more painful – speaking or nodding – I whispered a very not-annunciated, "Yes."

I finally opened my eyes to find Murtagh's eyes mixed with anger and concern. Almost as soon as I made eye contact with him though, meaning to try and investigate the emotions, they faded into their stony, unemotional color. He nodded once, almost understanding that I wasn't actually sure I could hold my weight, and somehow managed to flip me into standing, all the while supporting me so I never fully held all of my own weight.

We wordlessly made our way up the staircase towards our rooms, all the while Murtagh's eyes nothing more than the brilliant mix of brown and gray. No emotion at all. "Murtagh, are you alright?"

"You shouldn't have done that, Liaden; you should have been holding on. That was really stupid," Murtagh said, trying his best not to let his anger escape in his voice, "You know better."

I nodded, my submission a mixture of slight dizziness, genuine guilt and the tiniest bit of fear. Sure, Murtagh said he'd never hurt me, but he'd said that before. I believed him when he said it, but I almost couldn't control the fear that made my heart bit a millisecond faster when he was genuinely angry. "I'm sorry."

The second half of the journey was just as silent as the first, Murtagh helping me into my room and in all seriousness tucking me into my bed. I giggled, but it was quickly transformed into a yawn as Murtagh sat down on the bed next to me, his arms pinned to the mattress on either side. His brow was furrowed, meaning he was either confused or angry in a new, possibly nonviolent kind of way. "You know that I'm no good for you, right Liaden."

"What?"

"I'm no good for you," Murtagh repeated, his brow still furrowed but not reminding me of a very petulant child.

"Murtagh, it was my fault I fell," I yawned again, covering my mouth as an afterthought in courtesy, "You couldn't have done anything."

Murtagh shook his head slightly, obviously rethinking the whole thing in those two small shakes, "Don't worry about it, Liaden."

* * *

_That's no way to live - all tangled up like balls of string  
And we woke at dawn and watched the sun climb over the hills  
I just said the first three words that popped into my head  
Let me off the bus - I'm tired, sore, and should probably change clothes  
And the circuits are blown, my woman is cold  
Our children are stoned and worthless  
We're all waiting for you to tell us the truth  
But truth is a line that you'll never use  
And her dignity shown so bright, like a light on a hill  
And she burned for me, and no other man came near the flame_

Light on a Hill by Margot and the Nuclear So & Sos


	19. It Finally Happened AN

My lovely readers,

It finally happened. Somewhere between the commute from school to home every weekend, the wire connecting my hard drive to my computer (that is, if my brother is right in his diagnosis) came loose and I am soon to be without computer. Sadly, it also means that the only computer I have access too (the old yet not-quite-junky one at my house) has nothing of my stories on it that has not been published for everyone to see.

What does this mean for you? Well, it means that it is virtually impossible for me to be updating during the school week until my computer is fixed (hopefully in a week). It also means, though, that I'll be handwriting everything, including my stories, and that I'll be home on Friday freaking out about my e-mail and the things I have to type, once again including my stories. If all goes well (here's to hoping) that means everyone will be updated by Saturday morning. This, in turn, means that getting out another update by Sunday would be an accomplishment to brag about for ages (it would, for the record, be 16,000 words, the equivalent of ten english papers) but also unlikely due to my work and school schedule.

I understand that my updates have been slowly growing more sporadic, something I hoped to remedy by updating on time this week, but this borderline unexpected event (I thought it would be my charger to give out, as it is nearly snapped in half) is simply on of the punches I hope to roll with. Knowing me, by the end of the week I'll be twitching at not having updated, which is good news for you guys.

My deepest apologies to you - I can do nothing but beg for your understanding.


End file.
